


Seventeen – English Version

by Nuel



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-08-26 03:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 58,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16674043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuel/pseuds/Nuel
Summary: Brian and Justin have been together for seventeen years, well, more or less: seventeen years have passed since the night of their meeting, the one in which Gus, the son of Brian and his friend Lindsey, was born and since then they have been on and off regularly.Gus, however, is willing to do anything for his relationship to be as smooth as silk, but he has just moved to Pitsburgh and the only thing he is sure of is that life is a mess and this, in essence, is the only thing on which father and son agree.





	1. See you in Pittsburgh [Brian; Stella]

**Author's Note:**

> All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This story was originally written in Italian and published on the "EFP fanfiction" website in 2016.  
> I thank Lorie for correcting the translation, allowing me to publish it here as well. Without her help you would have found many errors, inaccuracies and ways of saying that in English make no sense.  
> Not to mention the pronouns I had lost along the way.

**1**

**See you in Pittsburgh**

**[Brian; Stella]**

 

The plane was right on schedule. Brian walked to the gate along with the usual bustle of sleepy and tired commuters, who were holding briefcases, and paper cups that wafted the smell of coffee through the wide hallways that were lit by neon lights even during the day. The linoleum floor muffled the noise of footsteps and Brian distractedly thought that it was a shame he could not do the same with the buzz of his own thoughts.

The speakers spread their electronic voice, announcing the arrival of the aircraft shuttle from New York, and the man moved to the arrivals gate, along with other unknown people, waiting to see their loved ones once again. He wanted to smoke but his doctor had categorically forbidden him to, along with taking drugs, or drinking. The asshole had hit him below the belt; he would have to behave or there would be no magic pill.

The lights announcing the landing and the passengers' arrival flashed. Brian began counting the seconds to the exit of the first disembarking person. Then the corridor would start to vomit gray and sad human beings; accustomed to their mediocre lives, by frustrating fucks, premature ejaculators, frigid sluts who at best faked their orgasms, and mainstream fags that would not never get him hard, even if he were ten years younger and with a popper vial tucked into his nose.

Thankfully, in the midst of that crowd that was capable of numbing even the best fucker in Pittsburgh's testicles, there was Sunshine. Brian looked across the people, a bored expression and the curve of his lips betraying a slight disgust, trying to catch a glimpse of Justin. Luckily he had no luggage, so they would not have to stop at the baggage claim and hope that the suitcase was not dented, cramming the front row with some nervous, fat, and sweaty old man.

He was finally able to catch a glimpse of him. Brian half-rose an arm to get his attention, but he noticed that his partner was talking to someone. He shifted to see who it was, while the other passengers who preceded them dallied as if they were the walking dead. Damned fucking commuter shuttle flights!

When the spinster in a navy-blue skirt suit and a half-high heels moved out of his way, Brian was able to see who Justin was speaking to- an insipid, tall and lean girl with a tiny backpack on her shoulders, dark carré hair, styled to frame an immature little face. Brian snorted and immediately lost interest. Justin said goodbye to the girl and turned his eyes in Brian’s general direction, looking for him and spotting him almost immediately. When he smiled in recognition, the day seemed to become a bit less dull.

Before saying hello, Brian squeezed him in his arms, heavily inhaling his scent and kissing him as people continued to swarm past them. He would never admit it, but he had missed him.

“Have a safe trip, Sunshine?” he asked in a soft voice, looking into the blue eyes smiling up at him.

“Yeah,” Justin replied, planting another quick kiss on his lips. “I missed you.”

Brian smirked. Justin was the one for cheesy statements. He motioned to him to go ahead, the corvette was parked in the usual place, they would not take long to reach it and then they would go straight home.

“When does Gus arrive?”, Justin asked him, walking beside him with a sure step in the cold air of Pittsburgh while the roar of another takeoff sounded behind them, drowning out any other noise.

“Tomorrow”, Brian grumbled. “Which means that tomorrow I will have to come back to this fuckin' airport.”

He opened the car door and paused a moment to watch Justin from above the car roof.

“This also means that we have about twenty-four hours to fuck wherever we want and however we want.”

Justin smiled and held back a laugh, pulling himself into the car without answering. Only after Brian had set the car in motion and left the airport parking-lot did he resume talking.

“What school will you enroll him in?”

“How the fuck do I know? To mine, probably, if he survives after I kick his ass.”

“Your high school is not the best in town. Have you considered the Saint James?”

“I thought you hated your old school. And furthermore, what the fuck do you mean that my public school is not the best in town? I graduated there!” Brian pointed out as he tried to adjust the vintage car’s malfunctioning heating.

“And Michael,” Justin pointed out, “who frankly, is not a genius. And also you can now afford a private school's tuition. And Lindsay has always wanted the best schools for him.”

“And look how he paid her back,” he snapped, as he steered toward the road that would lead them to West Virginia, and home.

“Don't you find that strange?” Justin asked, arms crossed on his chest as he watched for a bit as his partner finally won his battle against the car’s heater, and at the edges of the road, where the last snow was melting. “He's always been an average student, always behaved well and then suddenly last month, he was thrown out.”

Brian was silent. Gus’ expulsion, although it had been almost a month ago, still made him seriously angry. He was not a father involved in his son's life in a traditional way, but he had tried to see him at least once a month since Lindsey had taken him to Canada.

When Lindsay had called to tell him that their son had been expelled for having provoked a fight in high school, Brian didn't want to believe it. It had taken a detailed report and a fax of the expulsion certificate for him to accept the fact that that Gus had blown up his education and future to throw punches in the schoolyard. The boy had also refused to give any explanation for what he had done. He was locked in a stubborn silence, exasperating at first the principal, and later on his two mothers. A few days later, when his mother had appeased Brian's wrath, the boy had asked if ‘by any chance’, he could go and stay with his dad to finish high school in the United States. Brian, in the beginning, did not believe it, then he agreed to it. Gus was still his son and he was pretty sure he would not mind too much having him around for a while. Lindsey added that given Gus’ age, it would be good to live with his father, instead of living in a house full of women. Brian had thought that after all, since the boy had already spent the summers at Britin, it might not have been a bad idea. Though, before sending him back to school, he would give him a scolding he would remember for a lifetime.

 

* * *

 

Debbie Novotny's house stood out from the others on the street because of its vibrant orange door. The paint was a bit worn, but an orange door remains an orange door. To be safe, though, Stella Poirier, with her backpack over her shoulder and bruised suitcase in tow, again checked the address on the piece of paper that she had kept in her pocket for the whole trip. The street and house number matched. She took a deep breath and trembled a little with the cold, adjusted her plum colored jacket, and rang the doorbell.

After a couple of minutes a woman with blazing mahogany red hair opened the door. She had a spontaneous smile on her elegantly aging face, and she was wearing a fuchsia sweatshirt so bright that it could make you blind if the eyes weren't distracted by the eloquent black lettering ‘They stand up for themselves’ which stood out right on her prominent breasts.

“I'm sorry, darling, I don't buy anything from door-to-door salespeople,” the woman began, having barely deigned her with a glance.

“I'm not a door-to-door seller” she said quickly, pulling close the now damp suitcase, which had shortly before been caught in the bus doors that had brought her there from the airport.

“I was told that I can rent a room here”, she added, scanning the woman who, froze before having a chance to close the door.

“Who told you that? It's been a while since I took anyone in.”

“Gus Kinney. It was he who gave me your address.”

Debbie's expression changed instantly.

“Gus? Are you a friend of his?” Debbie asked as she examined the girl and motioned for her to come inside. A few snowflakes were beginning to fall from the prematurely darkening sky.

The girl did not hesitate, she wiped her boots on the mat and walked in.

“Thank you” she began, rubbing her hands on her arms. “My name is Stella” she introduced herself, “I'm Gus’ girlfriend.”

Debbie opened her eyes widely, looking the girl up and down. Stella stared back at her with brown and bewildered eyes, then smiled.

“Well, you're a bit skinny, but you're not bad at all!” She said as she held out her hand, “I'm Debbie, the acquired grandmother.”

Stella blushed and shook her hand. Debbie had a strong and loving handshake and her house was warm, although the furniture was at least questionable. The smell of chocolate was filling the living room and Debbie seemed to remember it in that moment.

“I was making hot chocolate. Would you like a cup?” she asked, pointing to the kitchen behind her.

“Gladly,” Stella answered, gratefully.

“So, you're Gus’ girlfriend…”, Debbie began, reaching the kitchen countertop and grabbing a second cup. “Have a seat, you don't need to stand there,” she said, motioning to the couch before pouring the chocolate. “Why are you looking for a room? Aren't you staying at his father’s place with him?”

Stella sat on the couch, looking around.

“No, I... I don’t believe that Gus’ father knows about me,” she said, accepting the cup.

The heat spread quickly from the pottery to her cold hands, making her sigh with pleasure.

“That's for sure!” Debbie laughed. “If Brian knew that Gus had a girlfriend, he would have definitely told my son.”

Debbie sat down in front of Stella and took a sip of her hot chocolate.

“My son, Michael, is Jenny Rebecca's father... Do you know her?”

Stella nodded, running her tongue over her lips where the flavor of the chocolate mixed with that of her lip gloss.

“No, I’ve never met her, but Gus told me about her.”

“Ah,” Debbie commented, disappointed.

“JR will start high school next year.” Stella answered, revealing implicitly that she did not visit his mothers' house.

“Yes, you're right,” Gus' grandmother conceded, “You and Gus, how long have you two been together?” Debbie asked, continuing to question the girl.

“About six months, but we have not seen each other for two and a half months... That’s why he wanted me to come to Pittsburgh,” she said, with a note of anxiety in her voice.

“Oh… and why is that?”

Debbie Novotny was a meddler, even though a nice one, but she was Gus’ grandmother and if she did not give her the room, Stella would be alone on the streets, so the girl smiled a little forcibly and answered.

“I moved to New York.” she said most succinctly.

“Oh, I see,” Debbie smiled again, taking another sip of her chocolate. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened when she smiled, but her eyes were as lively as those of a young girl.

Stella thought that Debbie did not understand, but that was fine anyway.

“Do you think I could rent your room? I wouldn’t know where to go otherwise,” Stella asked sweetly, and Debbie nodded.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind my husband... He’s an ex-cop and asks a lot of questions.” she laughed. “At the moment he’s out grocery shopping. Tomorrow we’ll be having dinner with my son and his husband and their son, and with Gus, his father and his partner…” she smiled. “Wow! Tomorrow you and Gus will see each other again after more than two months!” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

Stella smiled and nodded, blushing. She had no idea how things would play out with Gus, and about how his father would react. She had often heard of Mr. Kinney, the ambitious advertiser, last stronghold of a generation of gay men in precarious balance between fight and integration. But above all, a convinced heterophobe, and she was not sure he would approve of his son dating her.


	2. Shitty surprises [Justin; Gus]

**2**

**Shitty surprises**

**[Justin; Gus]**

 

The alarm went off, tearing Justin from sleep. Shutters slightly opened let the first light of dawn filter in. And when Justin opened his eyes in the dim light of the room he could not help but smile. Beside him, Brian reached out of the bed and put an end to the annoying trill of that instrument of torture. Slowly they turned toward each other, kissing sleepily. The sheets were warm from their body heat and Justin felt pleasantly numb.

“I still can't believe that you fucked me most of the night.” He purred in a slurred voice, embracing his man and rubbing his legs against his.

“I told you that I'd fuck you forever,” Brian reminded him, rubbing his face against the pillow. The count at the side of the bed was clear; used, opaque condoms laid on the carpet in silent memory of a night as there had not been one for some time.

“Do you want a blowjob?” Justin asked affectionately, as they exchanged daring caresses.

“I have no time, I have to take a shower and get to work” Brian sighed, stretching his lips in an expression of annoyance, while the room started to brighten as the minutes passed.

“We can do it together” Justin suggested, languidly kissing his shoulder.

Brian pulled away, sitting up with his tousled hair and bags under his eyes. Justin looked at him and remembered that incredible night had been the result of pills.

“I’d end up fucking you again and would be late for work” Brian grumbled, climbing out of bed to go to the bathroom without ceremony.

“Who cares?! You're the boss,” Justin objected, before adding “And then, I could fuck you” but Brian didn’t bother to answer.

Justin waited a moment and then stood up, heading to the bathroom to shave while Brian ended his shower. For some years, after yet another reconciliation, this was their routine. Justin would come home every third week of the month, they would spend a few days together and then he would leave again for New York.

Brian had not set foot in New York since eight years before, after they had split up for the umpteenth time. Sometimes it seemed like the clock of their lives had stopped, that Paul had not been part of his life for long, but then he came back to Pittsburgh, and a new line on Brian's face reminded him that it was not so.

Brian came up behind him and kissed his cheek.

“Let's have breakfast, then I'll show you something,” he said, smiling at Justin from the mirror.

“What?” Justin asked, but Brian just smiled and squeezed his ass with his hand before retiring to the bedroom.

Justin slipped into the shower, wondering when would be the best time to tell him of Paul. It had been weeks that he had postponed, and he was beginning to wonder whether it made sense to talk about it at all. When he reached the kitchen, the smell of coffee and the light coming through the large open windows put an end to his thoughts. Brian was having breakfast. Standing at the counter, car keys already in hand and an agenda open on today's date. Three-quarters of the page showed Gus' plane's arrival time.

“Do you want me to pick him up?” Justin suggested, pouring cereal into a bowl.

“No. You have other things to do, including going and finding your mother and sister. And don't forget the dinner at Debbie's tonight” Brian snorted. “I don't know what I'd give for not going to this dinner.”

“Then we don't go,” Justin smiled.

“You know Michael, he won't give me peace unless we go to Mom’s, all together, as one big happy family.”

Justin held back a laugh. He had the impression that Brian had made an effort to avoid some epithets like 'cute', but he was relieved to know that his man could always count on their friends. Since he had moved to New York, leaving Brian alone, Debbie had almost adopted him and Justin was immensely grateful.

“Finish eating, there's a surprise waiting for you.” Brian changed the topic, impeccable in his dark gray suit, a pearl-colored tie that stood out against an anthracite-colored shirt and a six-thousand-dollar camel overcoat folded over his arm. He took his briefcase and preceded him outside.

Justin watched his back, the stride that he would recognize among a thousand. Although Brian was half-way between forty and fifty, and despite a life of excess and the signs that time had left on his face, he was always a man who could make the heads of those around him turn. Justin drank his coffee and retrieved his windbreaker from the entrance, then left for the driveway.

During the night another slight layer of snow had fallen, but spring was coming and probably by midday only the ice piles would remain, darkened by the exhaust gases at the sides of the road. Brian went to the garage and purposely opened it on a shiny new BMW that left Justin gaping at the sight.

“What’s this?” he asked, approaching the car which had a sinuous shape and black satin-finish varnish, a two-seater that could hardly pass unnoticed.

“It's yours,” Brian said, handing him the keys, and Justin googled his eyes.

“Mine?”

“Gus will be staying here from now on and he'll need a means of transport. And you're too old and too important, Mr Taylor, to go around on an old scooter.” Brian came up to him, kissing him on his lips. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

“You’re giving me a car for my birthday?!” Justin asked, incredulously. “It will stay in the garage nine months a year.”

Brian shrugged. “Or you can take it to New York and stop using public transport.”

“Do you have you any idea about New York traffic?” he asked skeptically, and Brian shrugged his shoulders again, his lips twisting into a grimace. Justin threw his arms around his neck and kissed him with emphasis, pushing him against the car door. “So, now we have to baptize it,” he purred against Brian’s lips, his voice low and sensual, groping his crotch.

“Didn't I give you enough last night?” Brian asked in return, lowering his voice, making it provocative and suggestive, before devouring Justin’s lips.

“My car, my game, Mr. Kinney,” Justin replied, stepping back to grab his tie and pushing him on the car hood.

He had learned with the Corvette that the cockpit of that kind of car was not spacious enough for their escapades, and he cared little about the open garage or the cold coming through. The laurel high fence shielded them from the neighbors' view, and the fire that blazed in his veins every time he was with Brian warmed him enough to not care about the temperature. The night before had inflamed his senses more than ever and at that moment he realized that his companion had never let him take control just for that moment. He yanked his hands from his belt and opened his pants, continuing to kiss him until he didn’t turn. Then he pressed a hand on his back to lower him over the hood.

Brian bent forward, his ass exposed, elbows on the hood, head bent forward, bare legs splayed, and tailored pants sagging around his ankles was the most erotic sight that Justin had ever seen. Justin grabbed his hips, bending down to kiss and lick between his cheeks, preparing him while kneading the globes of his ass and opening them for space. Justin then fucked him furiously, causing low hoarse groans, until Brian's vocal cords did not seemed to shatter in a strangled moan and he achieved the orgasm. Justin's hands groped him, ripping his closed shirt in half as he stroked his chest while he still pushed into him, until his own orgasm rushed through him. He loved dominating Brian. He adored knowing he was the only one who his man let fuck him and he wanted to do it more often. But Brian rarely agreed to let him do it, even if it could breathe new life into their sex life.

Panting, Justin took a moment to pull out and get straightened up, while Brian was still gasping and leaning on the car, his knees resting against the license plate. He was closing his zipper when Brian straightened slowly, bending down to pick up his pants. On his knees, he had red bruises because the support was uncomfortable.

“You're a bit too impetuous, you know,” Brian gasped, with an uncertain half-smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. For a moment, Justin was afraid of having pushed too far, but then Brian stood up and threw him a rag, pointing at the spot of semen on the car's polished paint.

“Now it's baptized.” He smiled and kissed him before telling him, “See you tonight.” He then headed to the garage next door where he had parked his Corvette the evening before.

Justin took a deep breath, wondering what had possessed him.

 

* * *

 

Gus Kinney was quite tall for his age and was becoming a rather attractive guy. He had his father's eyes, but when his father looked at him as he had done that afternoon, it was not like looking at himself in the mirror. His father intimidated him even more than his mother Melanie could do. Perhaps it was because he did not know him well enough. Sometimes he wished he was Justin's or Uncle Michael's son. His father was really pissed, and since they had left the airport, he had asked him only two questions: ‘Will you tell me why you were expelled?’, ‘No.’ and ‘Are you going to graduate?’, ‘Yeah.’

After two hours of complete silence. Sitting in the closed executive office of the Kinnetik, Gus rolled his green eyes at his father.

“Are we going to Grandma’s tonight?” He asked flatly.

“Yeah,” Brian replied, without looking up from the papers he was reading. He was as concise as Gus had been in his reply that afternoon.

However, Gus smiled, his tension eased. And he began to count the minutes that separated him from the moment he would see Stella.

 

The neighborhood where Debbie lived was quiet, luckily, otherwise, two cars such as those parked in front of her house would have attract too much interest. Brian and Justin had arrived at about the same time and Gus was happy about the open smile with which Justin had greeted him after having to front up to the petrified expression of his father the whole day.

Gus quivered, dying to get inside. But he wasn't given entrance till Debbie hugged him, dressed up for the occasion like a Christmas tree.

“You're still growing!” the woman shrieked, pinching his cheeks.

“You know, Debbie, boys usually do,” Brian said, tartly, pushing his son forward and going to greet Carl.

Debbie winked at Gus, pointing with her thumb at the top floor, but before she could say anything to him, Michael and Ben appeared on the door.

“Where’s Hunter?” the woman asked, noting the absence of her grandson.

Michael kissed her cheek and, raising his eyes to heaven, said “He quarreled with Mary, it's better that he didn't come,” then he spotted Brian, who was already in the kitchen and joined him, greeting Carl and embracing Gus.

“Holy Christ, what happened this time?” Debbie asked, worried.

“Nothing that an evening spent by themselves can't solve,” Ben reassured her, kissing her on the head and going to greet the others.

The small Horvath-Novotny home kitchen was filled with voices and greetings, and a warmth that Gus had identified for years as a typically Italian.

“Well, then we can remove a plate from the table. We'll be more comfortable.” Carl concluded, practical.

The table, elongated to accommodate all, was cluttered with dishes and it seemed that the chairs were stuck into one another, they were close together.

“But… are we waiting for someone else?” Brian asked, counting the dishes.

“Yep, wait a moment, there's a surprise,” Debbie said, grinning and approaching the stairs, “STELLA! Come down, they've arrived!” she screamed, and Gus, with just a few quick steps, passed his father and went up the first two steps.

The sound of footsteps coming downstairs slightly preceded the appearance of a tall, thin girl with a bob of black hair and an uncertain voice that spoke to him, quivering with emotion

“Gus…”

As soon as he saw her, Gus bridged the distance between them to hold her and kiss her, oblivious of everyone. He took her face in his hands, looking at her, delighted, while she blushed, and he stroked her hair, murmuring quietly

“This hairstyle looks good on you,” he put his hands to the sides of her face, “and these earrings…” he touched the lobes, in which were squeezed two glittery, plastic red things. He stroked her neck and shoulders, sliding his hands down her arms, which were covered by a thin T-shirt, while she looked at him with eyes moist with emotion.

“And who the fuck is that?” Brian barked from downstairs, breaking the spell, while Justin, Michael, and Ben looked dumbfounded at the scene.

Gus still squeezed her for a moment, reassuring her, taking her down the steps with him, to introduce her to his family.

“Dad…” he looked at his father, staring at him with a look that could kill, and then at everyone else, “This is Stella, my girlfriend.”

“Hello,” Justin greeted her, and for a moment Stella looked confused.

“Good evening,” she replied. “You…” she began, but Gus interrupted her.

“He is Justin, my father’s partner, and they are Uncle Michael and Uncle Ben,” he introduced them, but Stella’s gaze returned to the blonde man, who openly smiled at her.

“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Brian shouted, hands on his hips, while the others greeted the girl. “This little girl… was on the plane from New York!” he recognized her.

“Dad, I can explain everything!” Gus assured him, stepping forward to Stella. They were almost the same height. “I booked the plane, so she made the trip with Justin… I didn't want her traveling alone.”

From the back of the room rose the low laughter of Ben and Michael, while Justin opened his eyes and looked at Gus in amazement.

“And how would you have booked a flight from New York to Pittsburgh?” Brian asked, with the calm that normally precedes the storm.

“With your credit card. I have the number,” Gus said candidly, and the laughter grew louder, but above all, added to the others, that of Justin, who winked at Brian, now furious.

“You… what?!” he asked his son, stunned, a deep line forming between his furrowed brows.

“I’ll pay you for the ticket, Mr. Kinney,” Stella stated taking Gus' hand. Brian seemed to remember her presence at that moment.

“Not at all!” He blurted out, “He will pay for it!” he pointed his finger at Gus, who was looking back at him.

Gus nodded, holding his father's glare, even if he was sweating cold, strangling Stella's fingers in his hand.

“It seems to me that this little mouse looks like someone!” Debbie chuckled, “Let's have dinner, come on, otherwise it'll gets cold! There, I made pasta marinara.”

Gus sat next to Stella and, when the dishes were full, the situation began to untangle.

“Do you live in New York? How did you meet?” Justin asked after a while, involving the girl who, until then, had only softly spoken with Gus, her eyes on the white tablecloth with the motif of orange flowers that Debbie brought out for special occasions.

“I moved to New York a couple of months ago, before that I lived in Toronto. We went to the same school,” Stella said, looking up at him, and a grin appeared on Brian's face as if he had started to realize something.

“So what do you do now? You're not going to school?” Ben said, frowning.

“Look out, he's a professor!” Michael warned her, leaning forward, friendly, and Stella smiled, uncertain.

“I left school. In truth, I’m looking for a job here, so I can move to Pittsburgh, and stay near Gus.”

“Gus has to go back to school,” Brian said, stone-faced. He was munching his bread or, more likely he was just chomping on it.

“Dad…” Gus tried to prevent him, but Brian threw him a crumble of garlic bread and looked sternly at the girl.

“My son has to graduate, this year. He doesn't have time to spare, considering that he made himself get thrown out and then he'll have to integrate into a new class, he'll have to catch up with programs and take exams.”

Justin leaned toward Brian, putting a hand on his, trying to calm him down. “I did it too, and I went out with you almost every night.”

Brian glared at him, but Stella took the floor again.

“Believe me, Mr. Kinney, I didn’t want to get Gus expelled because of me, and I’ll not interfere with his studies.”

“Stella!” Gus admonished, shaking his head to make it clear to her to be quiet, but now the damage was done, and his father did not lose the opportunity to investigate.

“Because of you?” Brian asked with a sharp smile, in a tone that was suddenly caressing. He shifted in his chair, leaning backward, his hawk-eyes fixed on his son's little girlfriend.

Stella seemed to sense that she had said the wrong thing, or perhaps she felt the pressure of his gaze. She licked her lips, gently ringed with pink lip gloss, and put her fork down on the plate with a sigh, before answering.

“Yes, Sir. Gus was expelled for defending me from some students that had targeted me…”, her eyes grew moist and Gus felt bad for her.

“You don't have to say anymore,” he whispered, passing his hand behind her back, but she shook her head.

“No, it’s right that your family knows,” she replied in a lower voice, and Gus held his breath, not knowing what her intentions were. There were too many things that she could have revealed. Not all could be said, not now, at least. “I was attacked by some bullies, and Gus rescued me. Since then, we started dating and they got back at him…” she looked at him, smiling at him, and Gus reached out to touch her lips with a light kiss. Even though it might make his father feel sick.

“They were fucking homophobes,” Gus added, at that point, looking into her eyes. “They also targeted me ‘cause I have two mothers' and I couldn’t let it go. Next year JR will go to that school too!” he snapped, turning to his father, confident. Knowing that Michael and Debbie would defend him. And his grandmother got up from her place at the head of the table and kissed him on the head.

“I thought there wasn't any... in Canada,” Michael murmured, one grateful look as he stared at him.

“Idiots are everywhere,” Ben said, touching him to make him feel his presence.

“Moving story. But why, if things went well, were you expelled, while those guys had just a warning?” Brian asked. He seemed less moved than others.

“Because…” Gus stumbled, “Stella had already left and I started a fight after hearing them make stupid jokes with each other. They weren’t insulting me openly, but it was as if they were.”

“As if…” Brian remarked, a fiercely sarcastic expression in his eyes that did not lose sight of Gus for a second, while his lips were stretched in imitation of a mocking smile. Gus was certain that his father had not believed him, but he would not say anything else on that topic. He gulped and held his gaze with a scowl worthy of a Kinney, as Melanie would say.

“Oh, stop, Brian! These guys have just met again, can't you allow them a little quiet time? Don't you see how cute they are?” Debbie asked, pinching one of her grandson's cheeks.

“Of course, Debbie, they’re adorable,” Brian said through clenched teeth.

“What kind of job are you looking for, child?” Carl interjected, with a smiling expression, although his kind, blue eyes were serious.

“In New York, I was a waitress. I don't have any qualifications, so…”

“Then you could work at the diner!” Debbie interjected again. “Sure! Kiki is looking for some help at the restaurant where I worked. I can talk to her tomorrow.”

“No. Thank you, but I don’t think it’s the case…” Stella said, suddenly anxious, but Gus almost spoke over her “It would be perfect, Grandma! Thank you!”

Brian grinned and shook his head, and Gus was certain he was going to say more, but Ben spoke first “And you don’t think of going back to school? Getting a degree will help you to find a better job.”

Ben's voice was always soft and quiet, and Gus saw that Stella was less tense when she spoke with him.

“I’d love to, but I need money,” she said.

“Your family doesn't give you a hand?” Michael asked, a note that Gus would have defined as ‘protective mummy’ in his voice, and Stella looked down, clearly in trouble.

“My family…” she began, “is in Toronto… I…” she looked at Gus, he was not happy at all about that topic but squeezed her hand, and she gave him a tentative smile. “I left home.”

Brian’s low and cold laughter was the only sound in the room. Until Debbie, her voice a bit shaky and a twisted expression, announced that for the second course there were lamb chops.


	3. Fuck relationships [Brian; Stella]

**3**

  
**Fuck relationships**

  
**[Brian; Stella]**

 

Brian had returned Michael and his husband to their home and then had headed to Britin with his foot glued to the accelerator. But when he arrived, Gus was already in bed, and Justin was waiting for him with a glass of Jim Beam in his hand.

“The doctor said that I can no longer drink, smoke, or take drugs,” he sighed as he sank into an armchair in the dimly lit living room.

The only source of illumination in the room came from the fireplace. Justin moved like a silent shadow, and Brian stared at him, his lips tightened in a hard line. Maybe Justin thought he was doing it for him, but he was doing it mostly for himself. Because sex was Brian’s mother tongue; the way he expressed what he felt, what he wanted. And sex was the first bond that had united them.

“Then I'll drink it.” Justin said, swirling his glass in his hand, and then carrying it to his lips.

Brian looked at him, sensing the movement of his adam's apple going up and down while Justin emptied his glass, and heard the echo of the taste of bourbon on his tongue. He held out his hand to grab Justin’s wrist, pulling him toward himself. He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to taste his flavor mixed with the liquor, and then wanted his tongue to lick his dick.

Justin sat on his legs and kissed him for a long time, Brian could feel his arousal become stronger. He undid Justin’s pants and began to massage him, drawing sighs of desire from him.

“I just have to take my magic pill,” he said, biting his chin.

“No,” Justin said, moving an inch away from his face.

“No?” Brian asked, not understanding, his hand still in his underpants.

“Let's talk.”

Brian cleared his throat. “Haven't we already spoken enough at Debbie's?” he asked ironically. He sighed. “What do you want to talk about?” He had tried not to show anything, but his voice betrayed the fatigue and perhaps even the bitterness of that last question.

“Paul asked me to marry him.”

Justin had not tried to hesitate. He had dropped the bomb straight on the target.

“Ah,” Brian said, feeling his heart shake so much that it hurt. “And what did you say?” In that moment, Brian was happy that the room was dimly lit, that flames distorted shadows, and that his forced smile was indistinguishable.

“That I love you,” Justin said, in a firm voice. “That our relationship is not in question and that I won’t leave you for him or for anyone else.”

“So then, why are you telling me this, Justin?” Brian asked in a whisper, the grip around his heart not loosening.

“I wanted you to know.” Justin said as his hand moved up Brian’s chest, still covered with the dark shirt he had worn that morning. He loosened his tie and caressed his neck, his square jaw, and climbed back up until his fingers combed through Brian’s hair.

“That Paul loves you? I've known it for years,” Brian said as he wrapped his arms around Justin’s waist and clutched him to his chest.

“So, why did you let me go back to him?” Justin asked in a whisper, his head resting on Brian’s shoulder. He kissed his neck, slowly, nothing more than a faint caress of the lips. Brian knew that Justin had always adored his neck and he loved the feel of his lips kissing him.

“Because, until you come back to me, I'll know you love me,” he replied with a sigh of pleasure.

He closed his eyes and saw Paul, as he had seen him the first time, ebony skin and proud expression. It had happened about eight years earlier. He had just concluded a contract for twenty-five million dollars after three months of grueling negotiations, with the risk of having his client stolen by another agency and he wanted to celebrate with his man. So he had decided to surprise Justin and had shown up at the door of his New York apartment with a bottle of sparkling wine and a pair of handcuffs.

 

_Justin had opened the door a few minutes later, flushed and disheveled, wearing just jeans and a priceless surprised expression._

_“Am I interrupting something, Sunshine?” he asked, entering the studio. He looked around. Having other men was part of the agreement between them, of their unconventional relationship, and then he saw Paul._

_“No, Brian, wait…” Justin had tried to stop him before he could say something inappropriate. He smelled of sex, and that guy was rising from the unmade bed, naked and very hot._

_“So it's true what they say about black men,” he commented. At least nine inches and circumcised, as he liked._

_“Justin, who the hell…?” the man asked, grabbing his pants in a hurry._

_“Yes, Justin, why don't you introduce us?” Brian remarked, cheekily. There had been something in Justin’s attitude, in his tension, which had prompted him to want to harm the young man._

_“Paul, he's Brian. Brian he is…”_

_“Paul,” Brian finished for him. “If I interrupted you, carry on, I don’t stand on ceremony. In fact, we could have a threesome, Paul,” He had watched Paul gasping and staring, looking from him to Justin, blacks eyes, a strong and beautiful face._

_“Who is this… man, Justin?” he asked, in a velvet voice, deep and manly._

_“I am his partner, Paul. Rather, the question is, who are you?”_

_“I’d have told you…”, he heard Justin whimpering, a few steps back. He did not interrupt the confirmation that had made Paul's shoulders shake. It was a bitter sting, nothing more, something already faced, returning as a gastric reflux, with the bad taste of the acid and a burning throat. Paul got up, quickly grabbing his white shirt, badly knotted his tie and he was gone, slamming the door, bringing along a dark jacket, while Justin chased him. “Paul, please…”_

Justin's voice that begged the man not to leave him came back again sometimes, in Brian’s nightmares.

“You know I love you,” whispered Justin, guilt still perceptible in his voice.

“Yeah, but I also know that when you go to New York and you're fucked by that big black cock, all you want is to do is feel it inside you again and again,” he sighed. “But it's my fault. I've made you accustomed to certain performances that now, without resorting to the pharmacy, I can’t offer you,” Brian said, derisive and bitter.

“You're no longer thirty,” Justin said, trying to console him.

“But you are,” he said, knowing that it hurt him, “and he is too. Therefore, with Paul you'd have a chance to fuck as you like for a few more years, and then your appetite will decrease simultaneously.”

Justin pulled back. “I'm not with you just for the sex, I thought we have made it clear years ago. I love you!” he said forcefully, grabbing his jacket.

“I've already told you that I know. But you should know how I feel, knowing I can't…” he smacked his lips, “compare.”

“You can’t stop time, Brian. And anyway, even without chemical aids, you're always a great lover,” he slipped a hand under his jacket, still rubbing his toned chest, but Brian glared at him and grabbed his wrists.

“How… how many times do you fuck, in a week? How much do you think Michael and Ben, or Ted, fuck? Men of your age have a physiologically decreased sexual desire, less resistance, but that doesn't mean anything…”

Brian knew Justin was right, that he probably fucked more than all his friends put together, but it meant nothing, really. He was not like the others, he was the stud of the erotic dreams of each gay male of Pittsburgh. And found himself, like the most pathetic of fags, afraid of ageing.

He pushed Justin off his legs as he got between his knees, opening his pants. He had not really wanted a blowjob, but damn, now he wanted it. He sat more comfortably on the chair, sliding his pelvis forward and rested his hand on Justin's head. His hair was like silk between his fingers and Brian abandoned himself to pleasure his man could give him, praying he would also be able to satisfy him that night.

 

* * *

 

The Liberty Diner was crowded for breakfast at that hour, so Debbie had told Stella to sit and watch. A tall waitress with backcombed hair walked quickly, carrying three plates at a time, with her pink, doll-like apron. And the customers, almost all men, called to her with familiarity.

Stella glanced at the menu. It wasn't very extensive and the prices were cheap. There was a relaxed atmosphere, people waved, they were regular customers, so the diner looked like a hangout.

“I worked here for years,” Debbie said. She had bright eyes as she greeted some customers and watched the waitress serve with ease. “When Michael was a child, he sat at that table over there to do his homework,” she pointed at the table in the back of the room, which at the time was occupied by a couple who spoke a lot, exchanging a few kisses as they waited for the arrival of their orders. “Then it became a meeting place for his friends. Brian, first of all, and then Emmett, Ted, and the girls- Gus' mothers.”

Stella smiled at the boy's name and Debbie laughed. “This morning I called Kiki and I told her about you. As soon as she finishes serving her tables she'll ask you some questions. Are you nervous?”

“Just a little,” Stella replied, smiling warmly. She liked the diner, it had no demands, and the customers seemed quiet. She thought she would fit in quickly.

“Here I am, Debbie,” The waitress with the pink apron and backcombed hair landed on the bench in front of them. “I'm Kiki. You're Stella, right? Debbie told me that you're looking for a job as a waitress. Do you have any experience?”

Stella nodded and looked at her. Kiki wasn't young and there was too much make up on her face, but she didn't mind. “I was a waitress in a restaurant in New York.” she answered.

“New York! Why have you come to Pittsburgh?” Kiki asked.

Debbie grinned. “Stella is Gus’ girlfriend. She came here to stay with him.”

“Gus?” Kiki asked. “Gus Kinney? Brian's son?” She seemed surprised. After a moment she looked back at Stella. “Oh dear! I remember him passing straight under the tables and now he has a girlfriend.”

Debbie laughed, she was clearly proud. Stella felt her cheeks becoming red. She had the sensation of entering into a story that had begun long before she came to the world; a bizarre story, where love affairs were interwoven with other stories. And she then looked with different eyes at the warm room, smelling of food and coffee, where Gus had walked as a child.

“If you like, you can have a trial day starting now, and tonight we'll see how you do. What do you think?” Kiki suggested, winking at Debbie.

Stella jumped up with a broad smile. “I’ll start now, Ma'am,” she replied enthusiastically, making the two women laugh.

“No ‘Ma’am’, dear, only Kiki.” The waitress gave her an apron that had seen better days, and while Debbie left her to her new job, Stella began to tidy up the tables, picking up the dishes and throwing leftovers away. The breakfast rush was over, but the lunch crowd would be in soon.

Stella didn't mind the job. She had smiled at the clients that came in and had not confused the orders. She only carried two plates at a time, but Kiki had not scolded her for it. She had even collected almost ten dollars in tips, including coins and dollar bills, and the day was not over yet.

But when she saw Mr. Kinney entering the diner, she almost fainted. She was sure that the tall and imposing man did not like her. As soon as he saw her, he grinned. He did not bother to say hello but sat at a table with two other men, who had joked with each other for at least half an hour.

“Hey, Brian! I thought you wouldn’t come!” the shorter one called out. He was an elegant type, with the air of the accountant, and kind eyes.

“I was held up on the phone by Lindsay, Ted…” Mr. Kinney sat down and looked at Stella. “I had to explain her why our son was expelled from high school.” He spoke loudly enough that Stella could hear him and continued to stare at her with those predatory eyes that seemed incomparably sweeter on Gus' face.

Stella went to the table, her knees shaking, but she would not let him upset her. “Would you like something, Mr. Kinney?” she asked, forcing herself to smile.

“Yeah,” Brian replied, with an amused grin, “I'd like to know why my son's mother doesn't know that he has a girlfriend, for a start.”

Stella blushed, while the two men sitting with Mr. Kinney stared at her. She felt threatened by the man, as if she could sense his disapproval.

“Gus' girlfriend? That's wonderful!” the other man, dressed in flashy but tasteful clothes, began.

He had bright eyes and a melodious voice, and smiled broadly, exposing the gap between his front teeth. “I'm Emmett and he's Ted. We can say that we saw Gus come into the world, although it's not really true. But we were there when he risked being circumcised…” Emmett gestured as he spoke and Stella blushed more. “I almost fainted…” he chuckled.

“Emmett… Emmett!”, the other one, Ted, interrupted him. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to speak of Gus’ foreskin,” He nodded to Stella, who felt her cheeks burn in flames, and she was really grateful to him.

“You’re right, Teddy,” Emmett laughed again.

“Bring me a coffee,” Brian ordered, “strong.” he pointed out.

Stella noticed that Emmett and Ted went instantly silent when Mr. Kinney ordered. “I'll bring it immediately,” she said, turning quickly to go behind the counter and get the coffee pot.

When Kinney was gone, she sighed with relief. Ted left with him, after warmly saying goodbye to her and Kiki. Emmett, however, came up to her, smiling.

“Brian is such a bear, sometimes,” he said. “But don’t be afraid of him. He barks and barks, but in the end he does it only because he loves his son.”

“I see,” she said, collecting two cups from the counter, “But I don't think he likes me.”

“Let's say that he has not calmed down yet over the situation of Gus' expulsion, but give him time. Eventually it'll settle. And, if you need something, Teddy and I come here often, all right?”

“Thanks, but I don’t know if they'll keep me,” she told him.

“Oh, I'm sure they will, you were very good, and also…” he leaned a bit forward, “they'd have to hear Debbie, otherwise.” He laughed, and Stella laughed with him, even though she did not share his confidence.

That evening, when the place seemed suddenly empty before the dinner rush, and Kiki had a moment of respite, Stella felt her anxiety rise again.

“If you want the job, it’s yours,” the woman told her, a tired expression and makeup a little smudged.

“Really?” Stella asked, unfastening her apron.

Kiki made a face. “No, I was joking,” she smiled, “yes, of course. We just need an ID for the contract, so we're okay with the damn bureaucracy.”

Stella bit her lip. The moment she feared had come. “I… I…” she piped up, looking down.

“You have papers?” Kiki asked, although she did not seem too surprised.

Stella reached into her pocket and pulled out her Canadian ID card, holding it for a few moments to her chest before extending it with downcast eyes.

Kiki took it, read it without batting an eyelid, and then asked, “Gus knows?”

Stella suddenly looked up, totally unprepared for that simple question. “Of course.”

“And Kinney? Debbie? Do they know?”

“No.”

Kiki smiled. “Have you found a doctor, here in Pittsburgh? At what stage are you?”

Stella sighed and looked at her, surprised, with the shadow of a smile. “No. I don’t even know anyone here. But in New York I started hormone therapy. I'm taking estrogens and antiandrogens.”

Kiki nodded. “I know the procedure. I went through it, too. I can give you some numbers, if you want.” she smiled more openly and then added, frowning, “But first the contract. I can't stand another day in this place unless someone helps me.”

Stella followed her, feeling lighter and almost forgetting that in the document that Kiki was still holding, her name was “Steve.”


	4. Life is a mess [Justin; Gus]

**4**

**Life is a mess**

  
**[Justin; Gus]**

 

Justin had not heard the alarm. Glimmers of light came from the shutters left ajar and the room was too quiet. The side of the bed occupied by Brian was cold, and Justin rolled over between the sheets, before sitting up. He put his head in his hands and called himself an idiot for the thousandth time since the night before. He was wrong to tell Brian about Paul's proposal.

Brian had gotten nervous, and despite having worked expertly between his legs, he had not been able to make him come. In the end, Brian had told him to stop, gone to bed, and had turned his back to him. Justin had embraced him, pressing his chest against his back, rubbing his own hard sex between his buttocks, but Brian had laid still. He had kissed the back of his neck, pushed his hand up to his groin, and Brian had stopped him. He was hard, but he had wanted to punish him.

Justin had turned around, angry, and had masturbated in silence, but he had failed to come, too. He had wanted to cry and he still wanted to. It had taken hours to fall asleep and his head ached. He angrily tossed aside the sheets and went to take a shower.

He wanted to call Paul, but the man had probably gone to his office and had been there for a while. He had to stop running to him for every bullshit thing about Brian. When he met Paul, their relationship was undergoing the shock of dramatic events, and Brian had become overprotective, even stifling. New York wasn't Pittsburgh, attacks were not uncommon and Justin had found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. His testimony had nailed the attacker and the former assistant deputy prosecutor who had prepared the hearing had become sort of a friend. At the end of the process, they had become something more. They were the same age, both loved art, and they found themselves fucking without having planned it. Days turned into weeks and Justin hadn't told him about Brian. Not because he hadn't wanted to, but because when he was with Paul, there always seemed to be something more important to talk about. If he had not loved Brian the way he did, he would have not hesitated a moment to say yes to Paul.

He let the shower wipe out his bad mood and warm him, then rubbed his short hair and dried, then got dressed, preparing for a day at home. First of all, though, he wanted to check Brian's blue pills, he had no idea if he used them regularly or how many he would take normally, but on the bottle, he would surely find some information and, perhaps, he'd decide to call his partner's doctor.

He wasn't enthusiastic about the idea of poking through Brian's drawer, but did not hesitate to do so, he sat down on the bed and opened it. He searched among the bunch of condoms, sighing, and almost gave up. If Brian was taking his occasional fucking pals in their bed, he didn't want to know. His fingers, however, touched a smooth, hard surface and tightened around it with possessiveness; it had been years since he had seen that little box and, at that moment, he pulled out of the drawer, opened it and stared at the two rings that Brian had bought for their wedding.

Years had passed since that day, the day they decided not to marry, and when he found himself alone in New York, with his cold and gray days, the sky high and colorless, he had wondered many times if they had it all wrong. Maybe they were not strong enough. They were still together, despite the evidence that life had subjected them, but… sometimes he felt that life had set them apart, and that being together was only the stubbornness of two proud men who did not want to admit they had made a mistake.

He closed the box and kissed the cover, putting it back in its place and closing the drawer. Brian was not his husband. He had no right to meddle in his business. If he had chosen to leave him, there would not be lawyers, documents, a division of property. All that was there was Brian's, car included, and all that belonged to him was in New York. It would be more complicated to leave Paul.

He shook his head, feeling the migraine reappear as if he had invited it with those disturbing thoughts, and decided to go downstairs to breakfast. Eating something would probably do him good.

The sound of the TV came from the kitchen. Just as he opened the door, he found Gus sitting at the breakfast bar, eating cereal and watching cartoons, wearing pajama bottoms and a rumpled T-shirt.

“Hey!” he greeted him, “Just got up?”

“You too,” Gus looked at him.

It hurt to see Brian's eyes on his son's face because Gus was almost a stranger. It did not matter that he had chosen his name, that he had held him in his arms and had persuaded his father not to give up on him. Because, if it was okay, he saw him twice a year and had not spoken to him for a… for such a long time that he did not even remember when the last time had been.

“Ready to go back to school?” Justin asked to break the ice.

Gus shrugged. “It’s not my priority, but yes.”

Justin laughed. “Don’t let your father hear that,” he urged, pouring the batter for waffles on the hot waffle iron. “I disappointed him enough when I didn't finish college.”

Gus laughed in response and his laughter was light, it resembled that of his mother, and Justin found himself smiling in turn. He would like to stay at the house for a while with Brian and Gus, trying to be a family like Michael and Ben with Hunter. He removed the waffle from the iron and took the peach jam out of the fridge.

He was not sure that Brian would approve.

 

* * * 

 

Gus felt a special empathy for Justin. According to his mother Melanie, it was because Justin had chosen his name, and whoever gives the name to a child leaves an imprinting on him forever. He enjoyed himself with Justin that day; he told him about high school, New York, and although he had the impression that he was not telling him everything, the time had flown. When his father arrived home, the noise of the wheels of the old car on the ground of the driveway went almost unnoticed. He had been on the phone with Stella for nearly an hour, lying on the leather sofa, feet stretched over an armrest in the direction of the fireplace, and Justin was preparing dinner. The days had begun to stretch a little, the sky turned pink and orange before starting to darken.

His father came into the house with a heavy step and tired expression. Justin went to meet him as soon as he heard the door slam; a delicious smell came from the kitchen. Gus was unimpressed, staying in the room, earphones on, listening to the excited voice of his girlfriend who was telling him about her first day of work. He heard Justin inviting his father to go into the kitchen while he finished the phone call, and did not bother to go and greet him until several minutes later when Stella ended the call to go to dinner.

“Our Cinderella has to be an amazing fucker if you don't even deem worth lifting your butt to greet your father,” Brian said to him as soon as he entered the kitchen.

“Brian…” Justin shouted, soft voice and tablecloths for the dinner in his hand, but his father continued. “You're lucky that Debbie got found her a job at the diner, in the midst of a flock of fags, because she won't have many opportunities to open her legs with customers…”.

“What the fuck are you saying?” Gus asked, flabbergasted, standing still at the door. He understood that his father was angry and he used Stella to hit him, but he had no intention of allowing him to speak of her in those terms.

“That your little runaway girlfriend, it seems, owes you the work, the roof over her head, and what else? She wants your money… sorry, your old father's money, which as you have already noticed, is a lot.”

“Stella is not like that!” Gus said, frowning.

“No?” Brian laughed and hit Justin’s arm, “She must give exceptional blowjobs. You could do a challenge,” He said as he leaned to kiss his companion, who looked at him sternly.

“Brian, you're exaggerating,” Justin commented reproachfully, but Brian, stroking his arm, looked back at Gus.

“Be careful not to get her pregnant, at least.” His father told him.

Gus blushed suddenly. While his heart beat faster in his chest, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and with eyes glaring, became incredibly similar to Brian when he was angry. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated his father at that moment.

“I won't allow you to speak like that about Stella!” he snapped in such a hard and resolute tone that Justin looked surprised and Brian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. They had never seen him so angry and certainly could not believe how his anger resembled that of his father. “The fact that you fuck anything that moves does not mean that everyone is like you!” Gus added, looking him straight in the eye. “Stella and I love each other, we're not together for sex and just so you know, she has not yet made it with anyone. So don't you even dare talk about her the way you just did or I'll forget that you're my father.” Gus was burning with barely contained anger, the impetuosity of a boy of seventeen biting the brake to escape. He was staring at his father, and Justin looked at him dumbfounded. Gus hoped that they would not say anything or he would not be able to maintain the apparent calm. He was not able to sustain that kind of confrontation yet. He was not like his father, strong and confident, sharp and intelligent, able to always say the right thing at the right time.

Justin seemed genuinely surprised and looked at him with serious eyes and lips closed in a soft line as if he was considering him seriously, as if he was considering him more than a kid. Brian's expression was a whole other program. His father raised his glass and proposed a toast to him.

“Then she's smarter than I thought.”

It was too much. Gus rushed forward, a fist directly aimed at his father's face, but Brian didn't wait for it. He got up, swerved and grabbed his arm, turning it behind his back and pinning him against the table on which Justin had dropped the green plastic placemats.

“You'd better do something about your temper, Sonny Boy,” he said, twisting his arm a little, causing him to hiss. “I don’t give a fuck if you fuck her or not, it’s none of my business, but as long as you live in my house, you follow my rules, is that clear, Buddy?” he asked in a peremptory tone. “Now you listen to me! Are you listening, Gus? I want you to behave yourself, and then I want you to finish that shitty high school.” Brian’s voice was as strong as his grasp and Gus nodded. “Now, if you want you can stay for dinner, otherwise you go to bed and you do not show up until tomorrow morning.”

Gus had moist eyes for the pain and the humiliation. His father let go of his arm and helped him straighten it, holding him long enough to make sure he didn’t hurt him. He briefly rubbed his shoulder at the point where he had clutched it and Justin did not dare look up. He jerked his arm out of his father's grasp and went straight to his room, skipping dinner.


	5. A matter of choice [Brian; Justin]

**5**

  
**A matter of choice**

  
**[Brian; Justin]**

Gus' stepped quickly, the sound on the stairs rang in the silence of the house and the sound of his bedroom door slamming made Justin jump. Brian sank into his chair, his eyes fixed on the marble top of the peninsula where the mats formed a messy green spot, like the pale frowning eye of a Cyclops. His appetite totally disappeared when he realized he was a terrible father; Gus didn't love him and didn't respect him, perhaps he feared him a little, and maybe it was all he deserved.

Justin lowered the burner so he wouldn’t burn dinner. Standing behind Brian, he hugged his shoulders and kissed his head.

“Maybe you overdid it a bit, but you'll see that by tomorrow he’ll get over it,” Justin said in a sympathetic voice, holding him tightly.

“He won’t get over it. Lindsay and Melanie have always let him do what he wants, and this is the result.”

Justin kissed him again. “Maybe you don't remember how I behaved with my father.”

“Your father was a jerk,” Brian protested, turning his own face to look at him.

“Yeah, but tonight you weren’t much better than him,” Justin said, smiling slightly.

Brian gave him a sharp look and stood up. Going into the living room he poured the bourbon, watching from the large windows the last golden reflections of the sun being swallowed by darkness.

“Hasn’t the doctor forbidden you to drink?” Justin, who had followed him, asked.

“Are you spying on me?” he asked, and when Justin shook his head, he poured himself a second generous dose of the liquor. “So then, I can drink as much as I fucking want.”

“It means that you’ll do without my ass tonight,” Justin said nonchalantly, but the only response he got was that Brian tightened his lips in a hard line, before gulping another bourbon.

He was aware of Justin's gaze on him and how much he was hurting him with his attitude, but he had never been good at putting his feeling into words, and over time, he had also lost the will to try. Feelings messed everything up, they weren't direct and honest like sex and there were too many that had been set aside for too long. Time was a one-way street; once you had postponed saying or doing something you could never go back, you would never have another chance to say or do what you had left behind. Brian preferred to act, but, sometimes, he felt trapped in the beat of seconds, afraid to say the wrong thing, not knowing how to give voice to those feelings that he couldn't yet manage to deal with or understand. The silence, meanwhile, was becoming heavy, so he decided to break it.

“Maybe you should go to Babylon.”

“To do what?” Justin asked, the tone monotonous and his arms crossed across his chest.

“To fuck, to dance,” He drained his glass. “Everything you want.” He turned his head to look at him and verbally struck him, “Or maybe you should go back to New York.”

“You mean to Paul?” Justin asked.

At some point, as he had become a man with broad shoulders and tapered biceps his blond boy had stopped being polite and started to tell him the truth to his face, even if it hurt, _especially_ if it hurt.

“I want to stay here and fuck you.”

“Well, you can’t,” Brian said, refilling his glass.

“Can’t I?” Justin asked.

Brian grinned and raised his glass. “As you see I'm drinking and I have the serious intention to continue to do so until I can’t stand upright, so, that being the case, I can’t take drugs tonight. Unfortunately, this means that my cock will remain at rest in my underwear.”

“You have an ass too though,” Justin replied, calmly. “I could fuck you, and you know that you'd like it, so why don't you stop trying to keep everything under control and let me run the game sometimes?”

Brian laughed and took a couple of steps back, to avoid Justin’s gaze. He didn't have an answer. Not one that he could give without proving himself vulnerable, so Justin continued,

“You have always done so, for everything. Even with the New York apartment; you wanted to pay even if you didn't want to set foot in it.”

“You weren’t able to pay the rent when you moved.”

“But when I started to sell my paintings, I was able. Instead we had to break up before you’d stop trying to take care of me. You had the mortgage for this house, the bill for the reconstruction of Babylon, you couldn't sell the loft…”

“Fortunately, I haven’t sold it.”

“... and my apartment. You didn’t let go of anything.”

“And now your sister pays me rent regularly and Babylon is doing well, though not as well as it once was.”

Justin shook his head, catching up and facing him again.

“You can't always take charge of everything.” He hugged him and Brian closed his arms around him almost by habit.

“If I let go of just a little thing…” he began uncertainly, “I'm afraid... then all the other things will escape me.”

Justin held him tighter and Brian felt disgusted at himself, for the admission that he had just unloaded onto Justin's shoulders.

 

* * *

 

The night before, when they were lying, quietly embraced, Justin had pretended to fall asleep shortly after Brian. When Justin closed his eyes and slowed his breath, his man had stopped pretending he was asleep and kissed him on the hair, gently squeezed so as not to wake him, and had stroked his back for what had seemed hours. He had felt safe in his embrace, but he had also felt all of Brian’s anxiety. He had wanted to do something for him.  
So, first thing that morning, he had given him a good morning blowjob. He knew that Brian would want it, two days without fucking were too many even for Brian's resigned and despondent version.

“Do you want me to make you something special for dinner?” he asked in the shower, while they soaped each other.

“You naked covered with cream?” Brian asked, turning him and starting to wank him while rubbing himself between his buttocks, without fucking him.

Justin didn’t answer until he came between his fingers, contracting the buttocks around the void. He wanted Brian to fuck him, but did not dare ask him, fearing to upset him again by doing so. They had dried and had come down to breakfast with their hair still damp.

“I'll talk to Gus,” Justin said, before kissing him on the doorstep.

Brian raised an eyebrow and kissed him again. “You should be his father,” he said, grinning, before going out. Too bad for him that Justin knew him too well to be fooled. He knew how much Brian loved his son and he knew how much the discussion the previous night had shaken him.

He didn't have to wait long before Gus turned up in the kitchen, his hair disheveled and a long face from the night before.

“Hello,” he greeted him putting the bowl of cereal before him.

“Hi,” Gus said, eyes downcast and no desire to talk.

“Your father just left,” he said, sitting down in front of him.

“I know. I came out of my room when I heard the garage door.”

“You just pissed him off you know,” Justin said smiling.

Gus began to eat, but Justin distinctly felt one “asshole” said in a low voice.

“He loves you very much and cares about you,” he said then, settling better on the stool.

Perhaps the kitchen was not the best place in the house to talk; too many straight lines, too much bright steel, cold reflections, and squared corners, even the island top on which the cups were placed was gray granite, imported from Brazil. wood decorations made sure that the room did not look too sterile, but, at that moment, Justin would have preferred to be in the living room, sitting in a comfortable chair, with Gus collapsed on the couch. It was how he imagined a serious conversation between father and son- in an environment of warm colors and soft lines, where two men could face each other without threats, without fear that their mutual affection would fail.

“Then he should trust me… and not insult Stella!” Gus snapped.

“You were expelled from school, you used his credit card without saying anything, and you put your girlfriend up in his house without even telling him that you were dating someone,” Justin remarked, smiling for being able to make a point with the boy.

“Stella is at Granny’s, not here!” Gus pointed out.

“Debbie's house is also a bit Brian's house, and anyway, you first should have talked to him about it,” Justin insisted, calmly.

“It was an emergency,” Gus said, putting the spoon into the bowl and leaving it there, stopped eating, leaving the cereal drowning in milk slowly turning into a sticky and hard mess. “You don’t know how her parents treated her… she had to leave… but I…” he looked up at Justin and felt his heart tighten, recognizing the same bewildered expression that Brian had had the night before. “I couldn’t leave her to face everything alone.”

Justin smiled. “You're really in love, right?” he asked, already knowing the answer. After all, he had made a bundle of mischief, at seventeen, to attract Brian's attention.

“My father, however, doesn't understand… he'll never accept it,” Gus sounded distressed, a hint of fatalism affecting his voice.

“You just have to give him some time,” Justin assured him. “He’ll get used to the idea and will eventually accept Stella… but…” he bit his lip and said nothing.

“But?” Gus urged.

“No, leave it,” Justin said, standing up and starting to clear the table.

“No, you started a sentence and now you have to finish it!” the boy insisted.

“Who says so?” Justin asked, with a smile.

“My mother” was Gus’ prompt reply and Justin figured the comment was definitely made by Melanie.

“I agree. You said that you and Stella haven't done it yet… and if she doesn’t feel like it okay, you don't force her. But what about you?” he looked at Gus intently and smiled. “I remember perfectly how it is to be seventeen, Gus, because it was then that I met your father... I didn't think of much else, besides sex.”

Gus blushed and looked away. Justin looked at him, enraptured, imagining how Brian must have been at his age, although he knew he had been very precocious and that at seventeen he probably was no longer able to blush.

“I've already done it,” Gus muttered, uncomfortably, and Justin left him all the time he needed. “...with a boy,” he added after a while, raising his gaze to Justin, who stared at him with wide eyes.

“With a guy? That's… With another male?” he asked to be sure.

Gus nodded and held his gaze. His expression betrayed the stubbornness and uncertainty of his age, the need for approval from a parent that he knew too little. Justin wondered what Brian would say if he knew. He drooped on the stool and asked, “Did you like it?”

“Yeah,” Gus replied, without hesitation.

“So… how can you be sure…?”

“I like girls,” he answered to get himself out of trouble. “I've also done some things with them.” He blushed a little and shrugged.

Justin opened his mouth and closed it, unsure of what to say. Then, the thought of what Brian would say made him uneasy, making him feel as if he were still the teenager under scrutiny.

“You're attracted to men and women equally? Is it that what you mean?” he asked gravely.

Gus looked at him as if trying to understand his thoughts and nodded.

Justin licked his lips and took a deep breath. “Being gay or straight is not a choice. There are recent studies according to which the orientation of a person is determined by the epi-marks…”

“... that being mistakenly passed to the next generation can cause homosexuality from father to daughter and from mother to son. I know about the study” Gus interrupted him. “There are also studies which say that children of gay couples are more likely to be bisexual, and in Freud's opinion bisexuality is an innate condition of every human being.”

Despite himself, Justin smiled. “You've done your homework” he said. “You know, if there is a category that gets even less sympathy than homosexual people it is bisexuals, right?”

Gus chewed the inside of his cheek, frowning as if searching for an answer, then looked back at Justin. “I don't want to live halfway, denying what I am; I like girls and I like boys. Why would I choose?” But then he shrugged. “I could fall in love with a boy or a girl, but I'm in love with Stella and that’s the end of it.”

Justin listened with a heavy heart. Brian could not even imagine how much his son resembled him. However, Brian would not be happy about Gus' choices. Instinctively he stood up from the stool and hugged the boy.

“Do you want me to speak to your father?” he asked, hoping it was a good idea. Gus smiled.

“Would you?” His voice full of hope and relief.

“If you don’t want to do it…”

Gus shook his head. “I don't want to keep this from him, but I don’t even know how to… how to tell him,” He bowed his head, biting his lower lip and Justin thought that even though he did not know how to do it, he would have to do it before he left.

“You need something for school? If you want I’ll take you in Pittsburgh to get what you need and then we can go to the diner for a bite,” he suggested, to ease the tension and because he had to get out of there and think, and Gus smiled happily.

“Just give me time to get dressed.” The boy said as he ran out of the kitchen and his heavy steps sounded on the stairs. Justin would have liked Brian to think like his son, that he would have just wanted him all those years. Maybe things would have been different between them, maybe they would have avoided much of their trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♠ Epigenetic theories of homosexuality: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epigenetic_theories_of_homosexuality  
> ♠ Homosexuality as a Consequence of Epigenetically Canalized Sexual Development: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/668167?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents


	6. What we are [Stella; Gus]

**6**

  
**What we are**

  
**[Stella; Gus]**

 

The diner was busy, the smell of fried food attached itself to the waitresses' hair even before the shoes began to hurt their feet, and they didn’t have time to rest. Towards evening, Stella was beginning to get exhausted, but soon she would be off. She had taken out the trash and finished cleaning the last free table when the door opened again and Emmett came in, wrapped in an unlikely orange eco-friendly fur and giving her a big smile.

“Good evening,” she greeted him with a smile just as wide.

“Good evening to you, dear… Ted and Brian have not arrived yet?” He asked, looking around the tables, and she looked toward the door as if she was afraid that Mr. Kinney would materialize suddenly.

“I haven’t seen them today,” she said.

“Oh well, they’ll come,” he concluded, sitting at his usual table. “Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me how it's going? Are the customers treating you well?”

Stella smiled and nodded. “Yeah, everything's fine. Kiki says I'm getting the hang of it.”

“Good… And with Gus? Can you see him or is his father throwing a monkey wrench in the works?” the man continued.

“Today he came here for lunch, along with Mr. Taylor.” Her eyes lit up when she said it, and she felt like a silly little girl since the place was full and they had barely been able to exchange a kiss on his lips, but she had been happy. “Next week, Gus will be back in school. He said he'll come here every day after his lessons.”

“That's wonderful,” Emmett agreed, and his eyes smiled as he watched her as if he were really happy for her.

At that moment, the diner door opened again and Ted, in a dark gray coat and olive colored scarf, entered. He was frowning, but as soon as he saw his friend, he smiled.

“Hi, Emmett. Good evening, Stella,” he greeted them, sitting down next to Emmett.

“Where’s Brian?” Emmett asked.

“He’s coming,” he said, unbuttoning his coat. “Justin called him a while ago and…” he widened his eyes and raised his arms, “I think they were talking about Gus, but Brian told me to come ahead and I don’t know what happened.”

Emmett and Stella exchanged a worried look, but the man shook himself and asked her to bring them two glasses of water, as they waited for Brian. Stella walked away from the table, trying to hear what they were saying, but Emmett was leaning toward Ted and the two spoke too softly for her to understand them.

Twenty minutes had passed before Mr. Kinney arrived. He had a cheeky smile stretching his lips, which turned almost into a grin when his look fell on Stella. The man, elegant as usual, reached his friends with a firm step and sat in front of them, clapping his hands.

“Waitress,” he called out, “A steak and a glass of red wine,” He clapped his hands again and grinned, turning to his friends.

“Aren’t you going home for dinner?” Emmett asked, and Ted echoed, “Everything okay at home?”

Brian rubbed his chin, still grinning. He waited until Stella was within shouting distance, intent on serving a nearby table, before answering in a clear voice, to be sure she heard what he was saying to his friends. “No, this evening Justin and Gus are in town and you two, of course, must come with us, call Blake and Drew, too, tonight we celebrate at Babylon.”

“At Babylon? We haven’t been there in forever,” Ted said, with a smile, “but why not… What are we celebrating?”

“My son’s return to school. His last night of madness before putting his head to the books,”  Brian said, looking at Stella. “So, call your husband, Ted.”

Stella brought the ordered wine to the table. “Your steak will be right out, Mr. Kinney,” she said, as quietly as she could, and he looked her, particularly happy.

Stella didn’t like how he was watching her, so she bowed her head, she was too tired to argue. The bell rang, calling her to the kitchen window, to pick up the steak ordered by Gus’ father and he waited until she came back to resume talking. “Justin told me a very interesting story…” Brian tilted his head to look in Stella’s eyes as she put down the plate in front of him. “I think Gus will find the… local wildlife to his liking.”

“At Babylon?” Emmett asked, raising his eyebrows, shooting a worried glance at Stella.

“Would you like anything else?” she asked, looking at Emmett and Ted, but carefully avoiding Mr. Kinney with his satisfied expression.

“No, dear, thank you,” Emmett said, while Ted was shaking his head. “I’ll ask my Drewsie if he wants to come to dance, but first I have to go home; a queen doesn’t show up to a party if she isn’t perfectly made up and dressed in the manner appropriate for the occasion.”

While Brian grinned, Stella walked away from the table with an unpleasant feeling. Emmett left the restaurant giving her another look she could not decipher, and only after Mr. Kinney and Ted were gone was she able to get close to Kiki to ask, “What is Babylon?”

Kiki looked at her with wide eyes. “You don’t know what Babylon is?” she snorted, “It’s so clear that you're just a stranger.” She smiled and sent a look that could kill to a customer before continuing; “It's a gay club, here on Liberty Avenue. It’s the Kinney property… his personal playground, if you know what I mean.” She winked and handed the receipt to a customer who was leaving.

“You've never been in a gay club, have you?” Kiki asked and Stella shook her head. “Music, drugs, half-naked men, promiscuous sex… by this time Kinney has fucked half of Pittsburgh in there,” she sighed theatrically, “all those sweaty men… testosterone in the air…” she sighed again, fanning herself with a paper napkin and then looked at Stella, worried. “Why are you asking about Babylon?”

“Mr. Kinney said… that he's bringing Gus there, tonight,” she said, feeling the anxiety increase.

Kiki sat and watched her with a serious expression. “When you first met Gus…” she looked around to make sure no one was listening; the rush hour was over, and there were few customers, the closest ones were to a couple of tables away. “Had you already come out?”

Stella shook her head, biting her lower lip. She felt tears sting her eyes and her heart ached. “I don’t like his father… he wants… you say he wants him to meet someone?”

Kiki looked at her with pity. “Brian Kinney is a bastard, baby,” she replied, not at all comforting. “I doubt he wants him to meet someone. I think he just wants him to fuck somebody. And mind you, I mean, _anyone_. His rule was ‘never twice with the same man’.”

Stella was pale. She looked at Kiki with a bewildered expression and only after a moment she asked, “What can I do?”

Kiki sighed and looked her from the head to toe. “If Gus loves you, trust him.”

“But I can’t… his father…” Stella began to sob. A couple of customers turned to her, but Kiki motioned for them to mind their own business.

“This is the effect of hormones,” Kiki snorted, “You can go to Babylon and get him, but…”

“But what?” Stella asked, looking at her expectantly, as she tried to fight the storm of anxiety and frustration she was feeling, whether it was the fault of the hormones or not.

“You're a minor, you need a card to enter the club. Brian is strict on these things.”

“Then what can I do?” Stella asked, near tears, and at that time the solution entered the diner.

“Kiki!” a young man called to the waitress. Kiki winked at Stella and ran to serve. “Will you give me three lemon bars to take home?” he asked, kindly.

“Can you give me your card for Babylon?” she asked as she prepared the fresh slices in a cardboard box.

“Why would you need my card?” he asked, amused.

“I'm a fairy godmother to two young lovers thwarted by their families,” she said, holding the box. “So, you’ll give it to me?”

“Who are Romeo and Juliet?” the young man asked, taking out his wallet.

“Your acquired brother and his beauty.” She tilted her head indicating Stella, who was watching with a confused expression and moist eyes. “Brian has decided to bring Gus cruising,” Kiki said, and the man turned to look at Stella.

“You're Gus’ girlfriend?” he asked, smiling at her. He must have been about thirty years old, he wasn’t particularly cute but had a nice air about him. He handed her his card for Babylon and Stella came up to take it. “I’m Hunter, Ben and Michael’s son,” he said. “They told me about you,” he winked, “For what it's worth, I'm cheering for you.”

“Thanks,” Stella piped, the mascara had run, leaving two streaks under her eyes.

Pittsburgh was a small town and it seemed that on Liberty Avenue, they all knew each other, while day after day she was a leftover piece the puzzle that was still being built.

When Hunter left, Kiki looked her seriously. “There is still a problem, darling. On the card, it says that you are a male.”

  
* * *

Gus looked around with his eyes wide open. It was the first time he had set foot inside Babylon and the fact that his father had brought him there had silenced most of their divergence of the previous days. He was on the catwalk, with Justin and their friends, watching the dance floor, on which an impressive number of boys danced to the music. His ears were pounding with the loud music. It was hot, and at first, the strobe lights had made him turn his head, but he had grown accustomed to it quickly. There was an acrid smell of sweat and the sweet scent of liquor and chemicals. His heart was pounding like a drum, he was excited and stunned, overwhelmed by every sensation that seemed to be amplified.

“You want one?” his father joined him, handing him a beer, and Gus' eyes widened even more before he smiled and grabbed the bottle. Brian moved closer, speaking directly to his ear.

“Do you like what you see? You can have anyone. You just have to choose.” He pointed to the sea of sweaty bodies, covered with sparkly glitter and golden confetti that remained stuck to the skin, and Gus took a deep breath, looking down. All this could really be his…

In the whirl of limbs below, Gus’ gaze was attracted to a boy crossing the floor trying in vain to avoid contact with others. He looked around as if looking for someone, holding his hands close to his chest. He was tall, thin, dark-haired, beautiful lines, as far as you could see from up there, even if the clothing left much to be desired.

Brian glanced at the crowd, following the direction of his gaze and spotted him. “Nice tidbit,” he agreed, grinning and evidently satisfied, a hint of pride, finally, on his face.

Gus handed him the bottle and broke away from the railing. He thought he heard his father say “Go to get him and get busy,” but he was already walking away. He descended the stairs, dodging other guys that were coming up, and plunged into the crowd. He hoped to find him. He hoped to be wrong, but if he was…

“Steve!” he called out, but his voice was swallowed by the music. He made his way, pushing, and asking permission, looking around frantically to find him, and after what seemed a very long time, finally found him. “Steve!” he called again, extending an arm to reach him.

Steve jumped as if Gus’ touch had burned, but he relaxed when he recognized him. His eyes were bright and he threw himself into his arms, taking his lips in a deep kiss. Gus hugged him and kissed him, until Steve, breathing hard, clung to him.

“What are you doing here?” Gus asked, his lips glued to his ear, and then he looked at him. He had cut his hair, removed the earrings, and there was no trace of makeup on his face. Even his chest seemed less curvy than usual. Gus swallowed, continuing to pass a hand through his girlfriend’s short hair. He knew how much Stella hated dressing as a man, she had told him many times how important it was for her to be able to dress like a girl, let her hair grow… and now…

“I heard your father say that he was bringing you here… I was afraid…”

Gus looked up at the catwalk, where his father was watching him, frowning. Even Stella looked up to see Brian Kinney and his gang and pressed closer to Gus. Justin looked at them and raised his thumb while Emmett cheered them on, with a smile on his lips. Only Brian did not look happy. Perhaps he recognized Stella… Gus did not want to know.

“Let's go!” he said to his girl, taking her hand and dragging her out of that carnage.

Outside, the air was cold, and the sky was dark, covered with clouds so that you could barely see the moon. Gus quickly slipped off the leather jacket and made sure Steve, _Stella,_ would cover herself with the plum-colored garment. They walked hand in hand to the end of the alley, before Stella broke the silence.

“Where are we going?” she asked, pressing herself to his arm, her breath that condensed into a cloud in front of her face.

“Debbie’s?” he suggested, kissing her forehead, and Stella nodded. The road was not short, but not too long. They walked at a good pace, and, meanwhile, Stella told him how Kiki and Hunter had helped her.

“How will you get home?” the girl asked, in front of the orange door of Debbie’s home, and Gus shrugged.

“I guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Your father will worry,”

“Fuck my father!” Gus snapped, walking over to her and taking her by the hips, and he kissed her impetuously. “I'll sleep on the couch,” he said, forcing himself not to ask her to let him sleep with her and Stella understood, because she shook her head. Gus felt a pang at not seeing her hair waving around her face.

“Sleep with me,” she chirped, blushing under the electric light of the street lamp in front of the house.

“Grandma wouldn’t agree… and the walls are thin,” he smiled, trying to make an excuse.

“I said ‘sleep’ stupid!” she huffed, throwing a light punch to his stomach, and Gus laughed. Even Stella laughed.

“I don’t know if I can keep my hands to myself if you let me sleep with you,” he confessed, and, for a moment, Stella seemed to hesitate. She chewed her lip and leaned forward to brush his lips in a gentle kiss.

“I'll risk it,” she decided, opening the door with the keys Debbie had given her.

The house was dark and silent. Debbie and Carl had been in bed for a while and Stella waved him to be quiet. They went upstairs on tiptoe, in the dark, and remained quiet until they got into the girl's room, when she turned on the light and closed the door. The room didn’t reflect her tastes, but many of the things that had belonged to Michael had been boxed up, and when Gus looked around, the best thing to look at was definitely his girlfriend.

He took his jacket off her and pulled off his black T-shirt that was glued to his skin with sweat from Babylon, then he helped Stella to pull back the duvet. Then she began to unfasten the sleeveless shirt that was a bit wide, revealing the tight bandage that flattened her breasts.

“Kiki said that otherwise you would have seen… although they didn't grow much… I usually wear a padded bra,” she said, a little ashamed, while Gus ran his fingertips on her chest, drawing the sketchy line of her breasts.

“Remove them,” Gus said, his voice low so as not to risk waking Debbie and Carl.

Stella blushed, turning with her arms close to her chest. Gus kissed her neck and began to remove the bandage, while her breathing grew heavier. He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her spine, his fingers brushed her hips, which had become a bit thinner since she had started hormone therapy. Gus hugged her, pressing his chest to her back, and Stella shook while Gus' hands went up along her chest, slipping under hers, touching her small breasts. Her nipples were hard, and Gus rubbed them gently, making her groan, her hands pressed on his. He lowered a hand to the belt of her jeans, undoing the button that closed them and his hand slid inside, pushing down the zipper, to close on Stella's hard sex, making her cry out.

Stella broke free from his grasp and walked away from him, her face burning and tears shining in her eyes. For some time they held their breath, listening, but they heard no noise from Debbie’s room. Stella crossed her arms and covered her breasts, her eyes were filling with tears.

“Stella…” Gus called, but she shook her head and he stopped reaching for her.

“I'm a girl!” she wailed, holding back her sobs.

“I know…”

But she shook her head again. “You don't know how it is! You don't know what I feel…” she looked down. The pants had come down and the bulge in her briefs was unmistakable. “I don't want to... I don't want you to touch me as long as I'm so…”

Gus took a deep breath. He wanted to take her and make love to her. He sat on the bed and tried to be reasonable. “When? After you have all the operations? How long before, Stella? Let's be real... it will take years,”

“Do you think I don’t I know?” she asked, without looking at him. “You think I'm not afraid of vaginoplasty? It isn’t like getting pierced ears…”

“And in the meantime?” Gus interrupted her. “I know you're a girl, but you still have a penis between your legs and you're hard! How do you manage it in the morning? How do you pee? Don’t you pick it up in your hand? Don’t you touch it when you think of me?” he asked with a heavy heart. He didn’t want to hurt her, but even if he had tried to be the mature person with Justin, the truth was that he thought about sex, he thought about it constantly. He was seventeen, after all.

“The hormones that I take reduce my libido,” she murmured, without looking at him.

“Fantastic!” Gus snorted, looking away for a moment. Stella began to sob and Gus looked back at her. “Stella, please…”

“You know what I fear?” she asked, taking a step closer. “And why I came to the club tonight?” She looked at him intensely, her shoulders raised and lowered at every sob. “I'm afraid that when I have a female body, you won't love me anymore…”

Gus opened his mouth in surprise, not knowing what to say except, “No!”

“You thought I was a boy when we first met! Those you defended me from called me ‘faggot’ and ‘queer’…”

“I love the PERSON that you are, Stella! I love you, not your body! The way you are, the things you say!” he insisted, the lump in his throat was beginning to make it difficult to speak.

“But when my body…”

Gus, exasperated, raised his arms to the sky. “Licking a cunt can’t be so different from sucking a dick!” he blurted and, for a moment, Stella was silent.

“It seems so”, she said, her voice reduced to a whisper.

Gus swallowed hard. He felt his eyes prickle with tears and didn't want to cry. He clenched his fists on the blanket below him and took a deep breath. “You know Lucy? That girl from section E?”

“That cow with red hair?” Stella asked, immediately identifying the girl Gus spoke about and he sighed.

“She gave me a blowjob, a…”

“What? When?” she interrupted, and her tone made Gus laughed because Stella was jealous.

He held out his arm, inviting her to join him. “Come here, before you get sick,” he said. He slipped off his shoes and sat up in bed, and she cautiously went to sit next to him, he then enfolded her in his arms. Both had almost cold skin, but the contact between their bodies was hot. “Lucy the cow sucked me about a month before we met,” he said as he kissed her shoulder, stroking her arms. “And the only thing I thought, as I watched her kneeling between my legs, was that I wanted to empty my balls…” Stella slapped his arm, looking at him very annoyed, and he smiled. “When I think of you and I want to touch you,” he said, “I don’t think I want to empty my balls. I think I want to see you enjoy it and know that I am the one making you feel that way.”

Stella cuddled tighter in his arms, she had a damp face and Gus stroked her hair again. “I'm sorry you've cut it,” he said.

“It will grow back,” she sighed, shivering.

“Should we go to bed?” Gus asked. His excitement was almost gone, and he didn’t want to continue that discussion. He wasn’t really ready to deal with the problems that lay ahead. Not at that time of night, at least.

Stella moved away from him and with her back to him, took off her shoes and the old jeans that Kiki had lent to her. She took off her socks and stopped. The briefs she wore weren’t sexy and not too feminine, but had yet to contain that thing that she didn’t want.

“Close your eyes,” she said, and Gus obeyed. He felt the bed springs rise when she stood up and after a few moments, Stella told him he could reopen them.

She had turned off the main light, turning on the lamp on the bedside table and she was in front of him, naked, with her hands to cover her groin and cheeks red from embarrassment. Slowly she shifted her hands, bringing them alongside her hips, revealing the thick dark hairs of her groin; almost none of her penis was seen, it was squeezed between her thighs, which she tightened to pretend that ‘it’ wasn’t there.

The light of the lamp only illuminated the right side of her body, from breast to knees, and Gus trembled at the sight of her light skin, his excitement returned immediately and he prepared himself for the idea of not sleeping that night. Stella got on the bed, slipping under the covers and Gus wondered if he had better keep his pants on, but he decided that the boxers would have to suffice. He took off his jeans and slipped into bed beside her.

“I don’t want to go all the way,” she whispered against his chest, as her hands roamed over his skin that warmed in a hurry, and her lips that softly kissed him, following an imaginary line that would take her to where Lucy the cow had already been.

Gus thought that perhaps he would not sleep, but in return, he would die.


	7. The children of others [Brian; Debbie]

**7**

  
**The children of others**

  
**[Brian; Debbie]**

 

Sometimes arguing had some advantages. Brian and Justin had quarreled from the time they had left Babylon until the moment they entered the house and had fucked. Adrenaline had been better than any blue pill, and now his beautiful partner slept like an angel, giving him his shoulders, completely naked and accessible, under the sheets, and Brian had every intention of taking advantage of it.  
Justin had told him that he had suspected that Stella was a male. Something to do with her proportions, anatomy, and design from the truth, and that it was all right. Gus was young, but had a clear idea that he loved her, and that the more he got in the way, the more stubborn his son would be, but for him it wasn't good enough. His son liked cock, and for Brian it was a relief; he could have taught him to live in their world, without fearing that he would sooner or later despise him as every straight on the earth despised the fags. If his boyfriend wanted to cut it off that was his business, but he couldn't believe that Gus wanted to get into a pussy after trying some tight ass. He'd never understand how someone sane could make such a choice or, maybe, he could have understood if it wasn't his son.  
He gently stroked Justin's buttocks, the perfect curve of his velvety ass that seemed to be tailor-made for his hand, and sighed with delight. Sometimes it was enough to have him close, to drive out the darkest thoughts. He moved to touch his back with his chest, it was still early, the sky was dark outside the windows, and he probably hadn't slept enough, but he wanted Justin, he wanted to get lost in him again and then he wanted him inside, he wanted to suck him and bruise him, leaving unmistakable marks on his delicate skin. He touched his anus, imagining it still reddened, feeling it still dilated and slippery from lubricant, and Justin moaned in his sleep, pressing his ass toward him. Brian smiled, aware of his lover's appetite, and put two fingers between his closed thighs, stroked his perineum and awakened his excitement. Another Justin mumble and another movement and Brian found himself with a completely erect sex. He suspended the loving care to his partner, the time it took to get a condom out of the drawer and put it on easily, and finally aligned his groin to Justin's perfect ass.  
A firm thrust and he was inside him, Justin whispered and Brian clenched him to his chest. “Good morning, Sunshine,” he murmured against his ear, licking his shell and slowly moving his hips.  
“Brian!” Justin groaned in ecstasy, pushing his ass toward him and slamming his head against his shoulder. He kept his eyes closed and breathed openly, and Brian stroked his exposed throat and chest, not knowing if it was his own hips dictating the rhythm of Justin's groans or if it was the opposite.  
He loved the way Justin arched his back, loved to hide his face in his hair as he rode him without stopping, their pants rose hot and fast, filling the room, stirring the air around them; when Justin's cell phone began to ring.  
“Don't stop!” Justin ordered, his short breath and his hair clenched on his back, and Brian continued to sink into the warmth of his body, but whoever was on the phone didn't quit. The cellphone continued to ring. “Don't stop, Brian!” He begged, his arm moving angrily beneath them.

“I'm coming…” Justin said a moment before the cell phone silenced, and two pushes later, his orgasm overwhelmed him.  
Brian reached over Justin's shoulders and added his hand to his, until he felt the hot springs of his seed hit his fingers and Justin slid onto the sheets. He kissed his shoulders before rolling away with the strange feeling that Justin had struggled to reach that orgasm, took off the condom and dropped it beside the bed. “Who knows who it was” he asked, stretching.  
“A nuisance,” Justin turned and coughed to him, kissing him tenderly. “Good morning,” he greeted him with a smile on his lips.  
“Go see who it was,” Brian said slapping his ass. He was still short of breath, but he liked the feeling of sweat on his skin after sex with him.  
Justin picked up the cell phone and checked the last call. “It was Paul,” he said strangely, turning away on Brian.  
“You should call him.” Brian's voice was so monotone that it would not be possible to understand his thoughts. In fact, he did not know what he felt at that moment, as he was in the sticky and damp linen sheets, the orgasmic feelings sluggishly slowing his thoughts.  
Justin didn't make him repeat it again. He walked a few feet from the bed, letting Brian look at his naked back, his reddened buttocks, and listen to the brief conversation. Paul replied after a few moments.  
“Hall… what?… When?… What did the doctor say?” Justin's worried tone tore Brian from post-coital peace. “No… no, I'll be back tomorrow, Paul… send me the list, I'll go to the pharmacy before I get home. Of course… Call me when the surgery ends.”  
Brian remained still for a long while, but Justin didn't say anything, continuing to give him his back. Until he finally asked him, “Is Paul okay?”  
Justin turned back to bed, his expression worried, but he tried to smile. “Yeah, Paul is fine… it's Murple… they're operating on her now.”  
“Who the fuck is Murple?” Brian asked, with a moment of delay, frowning. Justin had leaned against his arm and instinctively Brian had surrounded him.  
“Our dog,” Justin replied, embracing his chest, without noticing the disgruntled expression on his partner's face.  
“You… have a dog?” Brian asked, between the disgusted and the injured.  
Justin raised his face to him, his clear eyes veiled with concern. “Yeah,” he said.  
Brian shrugged slightly, taken aback and wounded as it did not make sense. Justin had a dog, no, Justin and Paul had a dog, some lousy mongrel dog, probably adopted from some horrible kennel where he would have been put down the next day, and probably they played the fucking happy family with a hairy son. He pulled his arm off Justin, he never wanted a dog; Justin, of course, yes.  
“Brian?” Justin asked in an uncertain voice.  
“Maybe you should leave today. If Paul called you, it means your dog is sick, doesn't it?” he threw his legs out of bed and stood up.  
“Where are you going?” Justin asked, and Brian wondered how many times they repeated that scene. Justin knew where he was going.  
“Shower.”

  
The kitchen was silent, no TV was on when Justin came over. Brian was cutting oranges, the electric juicer plug was already plugged in.  
“Let me, I’ll do it.” he suggested, stretching out his hand to take the fruit, but Brian pulled back.  
“I’ll do it,” he replied dryly.  
“You might splash your shirt,” Justin told him, just a moment before he did.  
Brian cursed under his breath and gave him his shoulders, turning to the tap to clean the tiny orange drop on the white shirt. He used a towel to wet it and that seemed to expand it on the fabric. He should have changed, but… he didn’t want to go back upstairs again, he didn’t want to go upstairs and pass in front of Gus's door.  
Justin squeezed the oranges, one after the other. The silence interrupted only by the electric buzz of the juicer became heavy until Justin's voice cracked like a crack on the glass. “Gus didn't come home last night, did he?”  
Brian snorted, clenching his lips. “How would he have gotten here, since he was on foot?” he answered acidly.  
“Where do you think he is?”  
To Brian, Justin's voice never seemed so irritating. “Do you want to start last night’s discussion again?” he asked in reply.  
“It seems to me that the discussion has brought its fruit,” Justin winked, then said, “He's probably at Debbie's house. Maybe you should call.”  
“Fuck Debbie!” he took the removable cup from his hand, drinking directly from the plastic container. “You should have told me,” he snapped after drinking. “I looked like an idiot!”  
Justin put his hands on his hips soothingly. “You didn’t give me time,” he said languidly, stretching out to kiss his neck. “And then I was just suspicious.”  
Brian put the bowl on the table and hugged Justin. “You should go and bring him home” he said to him,"if I do it… he might not make it alive.”  
“You remember my father when he kept saying ‘that Brian’,” Justin laughed, getting a sober look.  
“What time does your plane leave tomorrow?” Brian asked, and Justin frowned, looking in his eyes for something.  
“At 5:15, same as always” he replied.  
“Call the agency and change the ticket. You must go earlier.”  
“Earlier?” Justin asked, interdicted, letting his grip on his hips.  
“The flight lasts an hour, and then you have to leave the airport… I don't want you to have to run around half of New York to find an open pharmacy for your dog.” Brian snapped his tongue against the palate and smiled sardonically. “Being a parent implies a lot of responsibility, Sunshine.”

* * *

Debbie opened the door after knocking more than she ever had with Michael or Justin. She had always wanted a daughter, a pretty and judicious girl like Stella, and she was happy to have her at home, not to mention she would become part of the family.  
Not that she could complain; she had become a grandmother anyway, even though she didn't see Jenny Rebecca as much as she wanted, and then there was Hunter whom she loved as if he were really her grandson, and he and Mary sooner or later would marry and who knows, maybe they would adopt a baby.  
“Stella!” she called out, entering the dark room. She sniffed the air, there was a smell… one that she knew well. She pressed her fingers on the switch without any hesitation, turning on the light, and stared at Gus and Stella, who woke up with a start, blinking and looking for the comfort of the dark.  
“Grandma…” Gus murmured, sitting up, on his neck and chest a fair amount of hickies. He pressed the sheets against his groin, while Stella flushed furiously and lowered her eyes, guilty.  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Debbie asked, putting her hands on her hips. “I swear, if you were my son, Gus Kinney, I would pull you out of the bed by the ears! Now get up and get dressed! And you, Miss, it seems to me I was very clear when I told you the rules of the house!”  
Stella didn’t answer, mortified, the sheets covering her thin chest.  
“It's my fault, Grandma,” Gus said. “I argued with my father last night. I did not know how to get home.”  
“Get dressed! We’ll talk about it while you have breakfast!” She said, walking away shaking her head. She had raised a child alone and had taken on that hothead Brian. She even hosted Justin, and though he had a good head on his shoulders as a boy, heaven knows even he gave her trouble, but nobody had ever brought anyone home... for…  
Well, except Emmett, of course, but Emmett was no longer a kid, he was a man.  
Gus Kinney, of course, was his father's worthy son! She was no longer at the age to be behind kids full of hormones, who reasoned with sex instead of with their head. At least she hoped they had taken precautions. Last thing she needed was those two conceiving the next generation of grandchildren under her roof, and then how would Brian and Michael have felt?! They would agree, as they always did, and they would be freaked together, blaming it on her for not having watched the kids, because she gave her son's room to strangers… She stepped slowly down the stairs, her knees hurt with every step, and she went to the kitchen. Carl was already setting up.  
“Add a cup,” she said grimly, “Gus slept here.”  
“Here?” her husband asked, astonished. “Where?” he asked, before finding the answer for himself and commenting “Oh!”

“Well” the man said, a few minutes later. “Better here than in the back seat of a parked car, who knows where” he said, trying to mollify her.  
“Mh!” Debbie murmured as she fried the eggs. “Can you imagine Brian, if he found out he is going to be a grandfather with these two kids?” she laughed, and Carl laughed with her. “Or Michael! ‘They had sex in my room!? In my bed!?’” This time Debbie snickered.  
“They are a bit too young to become parents. You will see, I’m sure they have been cautious,” Carl smiled, “you have to wait for another bit before you have another baby to look after.” The man kissed her cheek, squeezing her affectionately.  
“Pass me the salt,” she asked, and he hurried to give her the salt shaker.

When Gus and Stella came down, the bacon was cooking, and Carl was reading the newspaper, while Debbie was about to turn off the stove.  
“Come on, let's eat!” she said, not even looking at them, so she didn't immediately see them exchanging a glance.  
Gus and Stella sat at the table, and then, as she put down dishes for the eggs and bacon, Debbie noticed that Stella had cut her hair. She didn’t have makeup on, she did not wear earrings, she was wearing a simple white t-shirt and her chest seemed smoother than usual.  
“What the fuck…?” the woman asked, leaning against the frying pan. Carl checked the girl out, embarrassed, and Gus alternated glances filled with affection and concern between the two.  
“I want to apologize, Debbie,” Stella began, biting her lower lip, “not just for having Gus sleeping with me last night, but because I was not entirely honest with you,” Stella sighed and looked at Gus, then looked at Carl and back at Debbie. “I'm a girl, but… I still have a male body,” she swallowed and resumed. “I ran to New York to start the transition, because my parents didn’t want to give their consent.”  
Debbie lowered her eyes to the bacon that was cooking and the eggs getting a little overcooked, she wanted to eat before the breakfast became shit, but her appetite had gone. “Well, I will say that Brian will not become a grandfather so soon.”  
“Grandma…” Gus called, but Debbie shrugged.  
“Shut up and eat!” she picked up her bacon as if she wanted to give the coup de grace to the pig it had been sliced. “Shut up you all and eat!” She added a moment later, “I have to think.”  
“There's nothing to think about, Debbie,” Carl whispered with kindness, beginning to eat breakfast and urging the guys to do the same.  
“Yes, that's it!” Debbie raised her glossy eyes to Stella. “Why the fuck did you get yourself up in this way?”  
When Gus and Stella finished telling her about Brian and Babylon and how Kiki and Hunter found a way for Stella to enter the club, Debbie shook her head. “Brian should be terribly worried, though he will never admit it. You should have a bit more confidence in your father and not hide it.”  
“I did not hide anything!” Gus protested, resentful.  
“Oh no?” she asked, staring at Stella.  
“It's not his business!” the boy protested, screeching as usual.  
“Oh really? Where do you live, young man? Who pays for your school and the food and the holidays and the clothes you wear? When you have a job and a house you can tell your dad that it’s not his business,” Debbie snapped, “and even then, your dad will continue to worry about you, even if he doesn’t tell you,” then she turned to Stella, “and that also applies to your parents. You should let them know you're safe, at least.”  
Stella swallowed, looking away again. “They don’t care about me. They want me to be Steve, but I'm Stella and if they don’t understand me… I’ll not let them ruin my life.”  
“Listen, darling, whether you like it or not, they are your parents and they love you because, whether you like it or not, you are their daughter, and sooner or later they have to accept that. If you had given them more time, maybe…”  
“More time?” Stella interrupted, with the highest voice of an octave, “So that my Adam's apple developed and I grew a beard?” her eyes dampened and Debbie remained shocked for a moment.  
“It will be a long process, kiddo,” she said calmly. “You will have to learn patience and endurance.”  
“We know,” Gus replied for her.  
When the bell rang, Carl got up with a particularly agile shot for a man of his age. “I’ll get it,” he said to everyone and no one in particular, and Debbie smiled, tilting her head a little.

“Even he got used to it,” she winked at Stella and turned to the entrance when she heard Justin's voice.  
“Hello, Debbie. Hi, guys,” Justin came forward, a smile slightly drawn to his lips.  
“Do you want to have breakfast, Sunshine?” Debbie asked, ready to turn the stove back on, as the guys greeted him.  
“I've already had breakfast, Debbie, thank you. I came to get Gus. I imagined he was here,” he widened the smile on his lips, staring at Gus and Stella sitting close.  
“Daddy is that angry?” Gus asked anxiously, that spoke volumes for how much he thought it wasn't his father's business.  
“It will pass, but for the next three weeks you’ll have to handle him because I won’t be there, so avoid anymore headshots.”  
“Yeah, Sunshine, tell him too!”, Debbie gave him a deep smile, making him smile again.

“And now you, Stella, go and make yourself beautiful, go on! You cannot have yourself seen at work with red eyes and dressed like this!”  
Stella gave her a great smile and looked in Carl's eyes to make sure he was alright with him. She said “Thank you,” and got up from the table to run upstairs.  
“Did Dad understand?” Gus asked at that point, and Justin nodded. Gus sighed and slumped into the chair. “How… how can I make him accept _this?”_  
“The fact that his son is bisexual, or that his son's girlfriend is transsexual?” Justin asked, too seriously.  
“What do you mean, ‘how can you make him accept this’?” Debbie interjected again, “You are just you and Stella is just Stella. You love each other and that's all!”  
Justin and Gus smiled at her words, and Gus rose to embrace her. “I’ll go get my jacket” he said to Justin, heading upstairs.  
“Brian is taking it badly, am I right?”, Debbie asked, when the boy was out of earshot, and Justin shrugged.  
“Gus grew up, Debbie. Brian will have to accept it.”  
“Well, you have to admit that there are a lot of changes, all at once,” Debbie said and Justin nodded ruefully. “What's wrong with _you?”_ she asked then.  
“Brian and I… No, let it be,” he shrugged, smiling grimly.  
“No, I will not let myself be! That fool Brian said or did something that…”.  
“No,” he interrupted at once. “No, Debbie, really. Brian is always Brian. that's it.”  
“And isn’t that why you love him? He is Brian, in spite of everything?”, she smiled at him, motherly, making him sit at table. “I've thought so many times that it would not last, that sooner or later you would get tired of forgiving him or that he would do something stupid to push you away, but not. Despite all, you two are still together and I can't believe that after so long there may be problems that you can't overcome together.”  
Justin smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Debbie,” he said, getting a glimpse as if he was just a boy.  
Gus came downstairs, the leather jacket left open on the skinny chest.  “We can go,” he said, and Justin got up from the chair, leaving Debbie and Carl in their kitchen, to find the strength to face it all again. Because even if she didn't bring them into the world, those guys, for Debbie, were her children, all, none excluded, respect to Arthur Miller.


	8. Calculated risks  [Brian; Justin]

**8**

**Calculated risks**

**[Brian; Justin]**

 

He had been thinking about it all night, rolling around in the uncomfortably empty bed, and in the end, he had everything organized by Cynthia; his most efficient secretary had stood for a moment, then turned her heels and returned to her desk. Brian, at times, was amazed at how she still managed to run on high and thin heels, despite having put on a few pounds, all focused on the ass. She didn't seem to notice it, and occasionally hopped in such a way that he found ridiculous, but that had hypnotic effects on heterosexual clients. Ten minutes later, Cynthia had given him schedules and appointment addresses, and Brian had checked his watch, realizing that he had to get out right away if he didn't want to miss the first one. He had picked up his car and driven to the parking lot near the diner.  
That morning Gus had started school. He had climbed on Justin's old scooter and had left without saying goodbye; they still were not talking. Before leaving, Justin had suggested that he give him time, and Brian was willing to give his son all the time he needed, but he could not sit around.  
Before entering the diner, he took a deep breath, then threw open the door and marched inside. Looking around he identified Stella and walked past her, heading for Kiki, in her pink uniform with a white apron that would not stay immaculate till the evening. The waitress looked at him as if he were the devil himself, but Brian did not give her time to exorcise him.  
“I need your waitress for a few hours,” he said, “you better run this place without incidents until her return.” Kiki gasped, between the offended and the incredulous, while Brian was grimacing in a way that vaguely resembled the smile of a hyena. “Stella, stop what you're doing and follow me,” he ordered the girl.  
“What? Did something happen to Gus?” she asked, without moving.  
“No, come on,” he repeated.  
“I'm not going anywhere with you!” she snapped, looking at him with hostility. Her short hair was held back by a small pink circle that must have been Kiki’s and that mitigated a bit that too short haircut that left the lobes of the ears uncovered.  
Brian snorted. “I was able to get two consecutive appointments to optimize the time. Moreover, we will have to talk about your education, so move your ass and get it in the car because I do not intend to waste precious minutes discussing this with you, girlie!” he said annoyed and unyielding.  
“My education?” Stella asked, not understanding, and Brian pointed to the door. Kiki nodded in the direction of the girl, convincing her to go, and Stella took off her apron, following Gus' father outside the diner.  
“First, the hairdresser, then you have an appointment with a cosmetologist who will teach you how to do your make-up properly, before Debbie or, worse, Kiki, tell you about how you should do it, and later, if necessary, we will arrange your wardrobe,” Brian began, starting the car.  
“What are you talking about?” Stella asked, grabbing the seat as the car turned abruptly, onto Bedford Avenue.  
“About the fact that you cutting your hair is my fault, so I intend to remedy it.” For a few moments Brian was silent, feeling Stella's eyes on him, then he glanced at her sideways. “You should have just told me. And put on your seatbelt.”  
“Something changed?” Stella asked as she grabbed the seat belt and hooked it without saying a word. “That I am a male, anatomically... I will not be forever.”  
Brian snorted. “If you want to get cut off your penis, that does not concern me, but if you want to be with my son, you'll have to listen to me. And you'll have to go back to school.”  
“I can not," she interrupted him. "I need money for the transition, the operation costs a lot.”  
“That's why I will pay for the inscription and the books, but only those. You'll go to the public high school, not to the school that Gus goes to.”  
“Why? Why do you want to do something like that? I know you don't like me.”  
Brian stretched his lips, the damned brat was not stupid. “My son is going to college and will not date with a diner maid. Without prejudice to Debbie or Kiki, but I want something better for Gus.”  
“I can't accept,” she replied, “without mentioning that Gus and I could break up.”  
“Are you going to leave him?” He looked at her again as he continued driving.  
“No!”  
“Then you will repay me when you have found a decent job after you finish school.”  
“What if Gus should leave me?”  
“Then it will not be your fault.”  
“You would like that, right?”  
“The question is not what I like, but what Gus likes,” he shrugged, grimacing. “If you are convinced that his love goes beyond an anatomical question, if you think he will want to be with you even when you have a pussy instead of a cock… then you have nothing to fear.”  
Stella let herself fall against the back of the seat, red in the face with embarrassment. “Why are you doing this?” she asked harshly again.  
Brian did not look at her, his rapacious eyes were fixed on the road. “Gus is stubborn, and I will not lose him by fighting about this,” he said, parking the car.  
“If you're behind schedule, I'll ask Ben to give you some lessons, now go on and get in there, give my name at the desk.” Brian pointed to an aesthetic center from the window covered with a large cream colored advertising billboard with two sexy models winking at passers-by.  
“Aren't you coming?” Stella asked with a hint of fear, and Brian raised a skeptical eyebrow.  
“I doubt that the staff is to my liking, and if it were, it would not have time to devote to you”  
Brian waited for Stella to go in before lighting a cigarette and getting out of the car. He needed to take a walk, but above all to convince himself that he was doing it for the good of Gus. He was not a fucking philanthropist, he was a selfish and self-absorbed asshole who fucked unconsciously and would not allow his son to ruin his life for a little fool who wanted to play with dolls. If Gus liked cock, and Brian was sure of it, then the quickest way to get rid of Stella was to make her quickly become a woman, in all respects. “You're a real asshole,” he complimented himself, passing in front of a mirrored window in which he could see his own reflection and that of Michael, emerging from the analysis center, on the opposite side of the street. He frowned, as he saw it, he threw the cigarette and started forward in his direction.  
“Michael!” he called when he had almost reached him, and his best friend stopped, whirling around with a smile on his face. Michael's temples were sprayed with white, but even this could not take away the dreamy expression of an eternal teenager.  
“Hi!” he greeted him jovially, “What are you doing here at this time?”  
“I had an appointment with a client, but I've already finished.” Brian threw his arm around his shoulders and pushed him forward, resuming walking with him.  
“Are you screaming along the windows?” Michael asked, chuckling.  
Brian nodded. “And you? Shouldn’t you be in the shop?”  
“Yes, but…” Michael looked down, not losing his smile, and Brian squeezed his shoulder, encouragingly. “I wanted to talk to Mary.”  
Brian nodded and breathed a sigh of relief; Hunter's girlfriend worked twice a week in the analysis center, it was there that she and Hunter had met. “Problems between the sweet nurse and the son?” Brian asked, a crooked smile on his beautiful lips.  
“No. No,” Michael shook his head. “It’s that Hunter told us about something, a couple of nights ago and…” he shrugged and looked at Brian, as always in search of his approval.  
“And?” he urged him to continue.  
“Ben and I talked about it… Ben does not agree, but I…”  
“Can you tell me what you're talking about?” Brian cut short, snorting.  
“Of that new therapy… you've heard of it… that of prophylaxis for HIV,”  
Brian pulled away from Michael, watching him carefully. “Are you talking about… those drugs that inhibit contagion in case of bareback sex?” he asked for confirmation, “It's still an experimental thing, a palliative for the idiots who fuck without a condom, what's that got to do with you and Ben?”  
Michael tilted his head to the side, a serene smile on his lips, and the shadow of schoolgirl shyness that had never left. “It was Mary who talked to Hunter about it… and he asked Ben and me what we think… Of course, we told him it's not safe, though, then I started thinking… it's almost sixteen years that Ben and I are together and we're not two kids anymore… it would be nice… making love without any barrier.”  
“It would be a bullshit!” Brian interrupted, his frowning face and concern for his best friend that clenched his stomach “It would be a useless risk, jeopardizing your life on a whim. What if drugs didn’t work you got sick? How would Ben feel, aware he had infected you?”  
“I know but…”  
Brian capped his mouth with a kiss. A deep kiss, of those that did not give him long, of those that made him shut up, but of which, at times, it was he who needed it. Michael pushed him away, laughing.  
“What's wrong with you?” he asked, still laughing in his own way a little vague and a little embarrassed that made him look silly, even though he wasn’t. His eyes were bright and Brian liked to see Michael happy.  
“Who would take care of me, if anything happened to you?” he urged him gravely.  
Michael lolled his head and then looked back at him with a smile full of affection. “Haven’t you ever wished to make love with Justin without any piece of plastic between you?”  
Brian felt his heart tighten with a noose. He had never, never had unprotected sex in his life, and certainly would not jeopardize Justin's health to find out how it could be to come to that tight little ass.  
“Does Ben know how lucky he is?” he asked.  
“I'm the lucky one,” Michael replied, and Brian wished he had not sent Justin away as he had.

* * *

The plane had landed on time, and Justin had headed to the veterinary clinic where Murple was hospitalized, without even stopping at home. The dog, an old yorkshire, all fur, about ten years old, stood in her cage, mogul and with a shaved belly. As soon as she saw Justin, she whimpered, raising her little head, the red ribbon that held the fur out of her eyes was crooked and gave her the air of an old drunkard who knew more about the street than the living rooms.  
“Murple!” Justin called her softly, kneeling in front of the cage. A veterinary assistant opened the door, so that he could caress her, and the dog wagged her tail a couple of times, trying to get on her feet, but immediately fell back on its side. Justin held his breath, looking worried at the nurse.  
“The intervention has weakened her more than expected,” he told him, responding to his silent question. “She's not a puppy. Dogs of her age often have other problems, but fortunately Murple is well enough. We'll keep her under observation for a couple of days, then you can bring her back home.”  
Justin was relieved. “Did you hear, baby? In a couple of days you come back home,” he turned to the poor creature who wagged slowly on the caresses of her owner, and then asked, “What happened to her?”  
“She ate stuffing or something, maybe a toy, which clogged her stomach. If we had not removed the mass, she would have died.”  
Justin shook his head. “What did you do, Murple? We don't eat toys!” he told her patiently, frightened and relieved at the idea that she was out of danger.  
Murple had been part of his life for almost three years. Paul had brought her home one day, to spare her the trauma of the kennel and the almost certainty of being euthanized, even if she was purebred. Murple was not a puppy and was not even particularly beautiful; she had a ruffled coat and she was thin and scared. Nobody knew her name, her owner had been murdered and the police had found her encrusted with blood and trembling, next to the body of the old maid that had been her mistress.  
It had taken a while for Murple to accept the new house, the company of the two men, and the long hours of solitude, when Paul was at the office. Paul had used Murple's melancholy to convince Justin to go and live with him. Maybe it was not entirely correct, but Justin had been able to convince himself quite easily; he had terminated the lease for the studio in the East Village so he could invest in that of the study of his dreams, and he had moved to Harlem.  
He no longer breathed the pungent smell of paint when he slept, but the smell of Paul's skin, and if the inspiration caught him in the middle of the night, he kept a sketchbook and pencils on the nightstand. Harlem was vital, colorful, chaotic; he liked to live there, it seemed to him that it was less cold in that neighborhood, in that house.  
Murple whimpered again, and Justin scratched behind her ears. “Get well soon, dog, before Paul gets depressed.”  
“Actually, I was thinking of taking advantage of the newfound privacy!” Paul's warm, soft voice came behind him and Murple barked, hoarse and happy.  
Justin turned to the man, giving him an open smile. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”  
Paul Carter, the prosecutor, in his serious dark suit reached him and kissed him tenderly on the lips. “Welcome back,” he said as he wrapped his arms around his hips and put his other hand into the dog's cage, caressing her. His large, chocolate-colored hand was perfectly cured, wider and longer than Justin's candid white, and he intertwined his fingers on the side of the beast.  
"Judge Logan had a mishap, so the hearing was postponed.”  
“And you did not have a backlog of work to be recovered in the office?” Justin asked him, knowingly.  
“Yes, but I had a private matter of great importance to be given priority,” Paul kept playing along.  
“A private matter?”  
“To give my partner a warm welcome,” he replied, kissing him again and Murple barked in approval, her tail whipping the air.  
Justin smiled and moistened his lips, the familiar taste of Paul sliding slowly over his tongue, yet, every time he called him “his partner”, Justin felt like a hypocrite.  
By now, Paul knew about Brian, he knew that it was he who loved and knew that twelve years ago, they had chosen not to marry not to betray their identity, their ideals, and their own love, yet he still believed in them, so much to ask him to marry him.  
They greeted Murple and left the veterinary clinic when the sun was still high in the sky. At the corner of the street there was a man dancing, his eyes closed and the air calm, keeping close to an old radio that sounded at full blast a now forgotten success of the 90s, no hat at his feet to collect offers.

  
Paul's apartment was large, made by uniting and renovating two adjoining lodgings, in an old building with a burgundy facade. From the roof terrace you could see the Hudson, and every Friday night the speakers of the nearby Episcopal church broadcast the local gospel choir for an hour and a half. At dinner time the building was filled with the scent of ethnic cuisine, a captivating collection of smells and tastes that he had grown used to, but which he lacked every time he was in Brian's clean and aseptic kitchen.  
Justin breathed deeply, without even realizing it, as soon as he crossed the threshold of the house.  
“Home, sweet home,” Paul said, closing the door behind him and hugging him. “I missed you, Mr. Taylor,” He kissed his neck and released his grip, putting the keys back in the entryway. There was the smell of Murple, of cinnamon, and a chemical aroma of air freshener which, apparently, did not work.  
“I went to pick up the tests while you were not there,” Paul told him, going to the kitchen, “and I heard Ken, he said hello.”  
“I should call him. I haven’t spoken with him for a while.”, Justin shied, following him. “Are he and Alehandro good?”  
“Yes, but Ken is worried about his father, he seems to have had problems at work and he asked me if I can put in a good word for him, but I can’t help him. At most, I can ask Alex, but…” he shrugged and opened a bottle of mineral water, filling two glasses.  
“I'm sorry for his father. He's nice,” Justin said, taking the glass in his hand.  
Paul waved his head and took a long drink. “I don't think that many people feel like you. He's an old policeman who grew up on the street, who has no career prospect now,” he paused, “It must be frustrating to see some newbies surpass you and have to obey their orders.” He shrugged and, leaving his glass in the sink, returned to hug Justin. “Want to take a look at the tests?”  
“Haven't you already looked at them?” he asked, hugging him in turn and engaging him in a new kiss.  
Paul shook his head, a smile to stretch his full lips over his white teeth. “I waited for you.”  
In the living room, inside one of the drawers of the old dark wooden sideboard, there were two identical white envelopes, except for the name printed on them; Justin and Paul did the tests every six months, responsibly, even though Paul had not gone out with anyone since he started dating Justin. And Justin… the only risk for him was represented by Brian.  
Paul opened his own envelope and handed the paper knife to Justin. They took out the sheets and exchanged them with a smile, repeating a well-established practice, but Paul put them aside, without even a glance, and Justin frowned.  
“Don’t you even look at them?”  
“I know you're as healthy as I am.”  
“No, you can’t know," Justin replied, and Paul bowed his head, wetting his full lips.  
“Justin, the only time you could…” the man began, but Justin stopped him.  
“Don’t say it!” he told him. “Brian and I only have safe sex, always! I never even caught a cold from him!” Again, Justin felt guilty at the thought of the box of condoms that had been unused for nearly a year in their room, because he and Paul had stopped taking precautions, and if Brian had known…  
Paul took the sheets of paper from his hand and hugged him, kissing him with care as he pushed him toward the couch and Justin answered warmly, slipping his hands under his shirt, pulling his belt to open his pants and the memory of Brian's words struck him like a whip on the back: _“when you come back to New York and you get fucked by that big black dick, all you want is to feel it inside again and again”._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously Michael talks about the PrEP


	9. The luck of those who struggle [Gus; Michael]

**9**

  
**The luck of those who struggle**

  
[Gus; Michael]

 

Getting to start the school year late was a great way to get noticed. Gus understood it definitely during the first two lessons of that morning: St James was an exclusive school, one where teachers call the students "Mister" and "Miss" and where "appropriate" behavior was required. Precisely for this reason, something outside the ordinary often did not happen, and that day it was him.  
That morning, Gus had worn the school uniform and had gone there thinking only that, at the end of the lessons, he would go to the diner to see Stella, but, during the morning, he thought very little about his girlfriend. He liked to be the center of attention. He didn't like however, that the teachers always asked him the same questions about the program he did, which textbooks he used, and that they would offer their help if he found himself in difficulty, to catch up with the studies. They made him feel a moron and he was not at all. Along the corridors, however, he was systematically approached by new classmates, nice girls and boys who asked him if he was practicing any sport and had already identified some nice faces. He stopped to chat with someone and at lunch time, he was invited to the table of some classmates. He was sure he would be fine.  
When the last bell sounded and the lessons ended, Gus greeted a couple of boys he had talked to and ran to the scooter, put on his helmet and darted down the tree-lined avenue leading to the school. Pittsburgh's traffic was not as chaotic as Toronto's, and Gus didn’t take long to get to Liberty Avenue. He parked and hurried to the diner. The most colorful street in Pittsburgh was not so different from the others at that time of day, with the clubs still closed and the employees in suits that went to bus stops to go home.  
When he entered the diner, even before he had time to look around for Stella, he found himself with two arms around his neck and a demanding mouth pressing on his. He wrapped her arms around Stella's hips and kissed her with joy, while a couple of boys whistled and Kiki screamed to leave them alone.  
“Wow!" Gus commented, moving from the entrance, where someone had pushed the door between his shoulder blades. “What have I done to deserve such a welcome?”  
Stella laughed and stared at him. “How did it go at school?” she asked, glancing at the slightly crumpled uniform, but that fit him like a glove, before recovering the tray she had placed at the nearby table.  
“Fine…”  
“Is anyone nice?” she interrupted and Gus frowned.  
“No one is as cute as you are,” he replied, but when Stella smiled again, staring at him as she had before, the boy wondered if she was making fun of him. “Do I have anything on my face?” he asked.  
Stella snorted and gave him an offended look, carrying the empty tray behind the counter.  
“What is it?” Gus insisted, following her, while Kiki looked at him compassionately.  
“Now I recognize you as Brian Kinney's son,” the woman said, and for the first time Gus saw Stella smiling at his father's name. In fact, he saw her smile and _blush._  
“Stella?” he called her, approaching the counter and sitting in front of her, watching her more carefully. “Have you… have you done something to your face?” he asked, a little too uncertain.  
“Hallelujah!” Kiki snorted, while Stella looked back at him, her dark eyes wide open and nodded, waiting.  
“Er… You've changed…” he looked more carefully at her, to be sure, “What did you do to your eyes?” he finally asked.  
Stella snorted, looking up at the ceiling and Kiki mumbled something that sounded like ‘Worse than a man there is only a Kinney’, but Gus decided not to give her rope.  
“This morning your father was here,” Stella began, and Gus stiffened, immediately worried.

“He accompanied me to a salon, he got an appointment for me with a hairdresser and a make-up artist.”  
Gus looked at her puzzled. Hair and make-up… In fact Stella's hair did look different, more full and unthreaded, they also had a different shade, the tips tended to red, but discreetly and the face… “What have you done to your face?”  
Stella laughed. “A beautician has redefined my eyebrows.”  
“Redefined?”  
“Shaped!” Stella snorted. “With tweezers.”  
Gus had a sympathetic pain and looked at his girlfriend as if wondering how it was possible that she was fine.  
“Then she put on my makeup. She explained how to do it and suggested the colors that fit me best.”  
Gus stretched his lips in a reluctant smile. “I only know you're beautiful,” he said, and Stella laughed happily.

“But why did my father do that?” he asked again.  
“He said it was his fault if I cut my hair and wanted to fix it, but that's not all!” she added, looking at him and biting her bottom lip. “He said he would pay for me to finish high school.”  
“What?” Gus nearly fell off his chair. He stared at Stella with an open mouth and a strange feeling in him. “Will you come to school with me?” he asked, uncertainly.  
“No.” she answered. “He said that if I agree, he will pay for my books and things I need for public school… Gus… I could finish high school!”  
“So you accepted?”  
“No, I told him that I want to talk to you first, but…” Gus looked into Stella's dark eyes and nodded.  
“You should have told him right away,” he assured her. “I don't know why he’s doing it, but I would like you to finish school.”  
Stella smiled happily and perhaps even a little excited, her white teeth gleamed between her burgundy colored lips and her eyes narrowed between the shaded eyelids of black and beige. She was beautiful and carefree as he had never seen her, _like a girl,_ and Gus felt his stomach clench.  
He did not know what the anxiety came from, whether it depended on not knowing what to expect from his father or whether it was because he had made Stella happy. He felt foolish at the thought of being jealous of his father and reached to kiss his girlfriend. Her lips tasted different. It was probably just the fault of the lipstick.  
“Maybe we misjudged him,” Stella blew on his mouth. “After all, it's your father.”  
Gus shrugged. “For Mom, he's a good person. It's my mother Melanie who says he's an asshole and Mom always defends him,” Gus felt obliged to point out.  
“Look, honey, the dishes have not yet learned to deliver themselves,” Kiki said when Gus was about to kiss her again. Stella snapped with all the enthusiasm she had at that moment and Gus found himself looking at Kiki's excessively cosmetic expression. “I don’t pay her to flirt with you!”  
“As if you pay her!” Gus snorted and then took the menu in his hand and choose what to order. Tonight he would have dinner at home, with his father, and perhaps he should thank him for what he had proposed to do for Stella. Perhaps, after all, his father was not so bad. He swallowed the apprehension that still gripped his stomach and took a deep breath, hoping things would go right.

* * *

Michael came home at sunset, after the shop closed. He still had the smile on his lips that Brian's kiss had left him. “Ben? I'm home!” he began, opening the door.  
There was a scent of incense that slightly nipped his nose and Ben's voice reached him from the kitchen. “Michael! I'm in here.” His husband came out of the kitchen, a burned pan in his hand and the air stinking.  
“What happened?” Michael asked, taking off his coat and going to kiss him.  
“I started writing and forgot I left dinner on the stove…”  
“So we'll order pizza?”  
“I managed to save a part of what I was preparing”  
Michael laughed and took the pan out of his hand, then get up on his toes and kissed him. “I love you,” he whispered, “even if this incense sucks!”  
Ben frowned. “Would you have preferred the smell of burnt food?” he asked and Michael lolled his head as if to imply that almost… and Ben's expression went from mortified to indignation.  
“How ungrateful!” he snorted. “I should send you to bed without supper!”  
Michael grumbled. “And here I hoped for severe corporal punishment!” he reached out to kiss him again and Ben held him to his chest.  
“A very, very hard punishment,” Ben purred, beginning to kiss his husband with happiness.  
The sound of the pot falling to the ground, while Michael's arms went up to surround the professor's neck, covered the door suddenly opening, so they both jumped when Hunter's voice surprised them: “Holy Christ!” he exclaimed, “How long have you been married? Still not there? Won't you stop! Do you really have to make out continuously?”  
“And shouldn’t you be with Mary?” Michael asked, remaining entwined with Ben.  
Hunter snorted and lolled to the table set for two. “What's for dinner?” he asked, looking with a desolate expression, the sauteed rice, and something that, in life, must have been a fish, but that had assumed the appearance, and possibly the texture, of the sole of a shoe.  
“Is something wrong, Hunter?” Ben asked him. “Is everything okay at work?”  
“Yeah,” he replied with a bored look, for Michael, he would always remain a boy. “Everything’s good” Hunter put a finger on the fish and brought it to his mouth, making a disgusted expression. “It tastes burnt,” he said without looking at his two fathers. Michael, at that point, was really worried; Hunter used to complain about his job, too sedentary, too repetitive, too nerdy. He was a systems consultant in a computer consulting company, and he did not spend a day without complaining about the lack of movement, the stale air of the office, or the gossipy talk of his colleagues.  
Michael and Ben knew he loved that job, they knew it from the speed with which his long, gnarled fingers moved on the keys and the way he never liked anything, but he didn't want to hear about changing jobs.  
“There are no other problems with Mary, are there?” Michael asked him, a sudden intuition that triggered a kind of alarm inside him, his Italian half taking over rationality and making him detach from Ben to go meet with his son.  
"Ben, you won’t be offended if I order a pizza, will you?” Hunter asked, pretending not to have heard Michael's question, and at that point, the anguished parent knew that the problem was Mary.  
“Hunter!” he said, putting his hands on his shoulders, looking for his gaze. “What's wrong?”  
Hunter snorted and pulled away, raising his arms for a moment, before immediately letting them fall down his hips. He sank down completely slack on the living room couch and folded his arms to his chest, feeling like a dissatisfied teenager.  
Ben and Michael sat down beside him, worried, but patient, and Michael looked at the boy he raised and had watched grow into a man, among many difficulties, and a thousand thoughts crossed his mind. He put his hand on Hunter’s arm and shook it gently.  
Hunter bit a corner of his mouth, his eyes were veiled, but he would not cry, he did not cry easily. He sighed and then blurted out, “How can I do something like that to the person I love!?” he loosened his arms and opened his big hands on his legs, palms facing the ceiling.  
“Do what?” Ben asked him.  
“Ask her to marry me,” Hunter said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and his parents should have known.  
Michael gasped. “Do you want to ask Mary to marry you?” His voice trembled with emotion.  
Hunter shook his head. “I wish,” he said gravely. “I've been thinking about it for a while, but… as much as she loves me, how can I condemn her to a life with me? I could get sick, I could die…”  
“Or you could have a car accident, or stumble on a step and crack your head,” Ben interrupted. “You can not foresee the future, you can only live the present,”  
Hunter looked at him as if he knew his words by heart and, in fact, it was so. “One day Mary may want children, she may want things that I can not give her.”  
“She will never want anything you can’t give her,” Michael assured him. “Mary loves you and knows what's going on, she knew when you got together and she knows every day that goes with you. That never stopped her, so why are you worrying?” he asked emphatically, while Ben looked at him with an inscrutable expression.

“Ask her what she wants, instead of staying here and wondering what she wants!” Michael added, with a loving smile, and Hunter nodded.  
“Now go and call her before she thinks something happened to you,” he told him, “and then call the pizzeria and order a pizza with chips and a vegetarian platter. Tomorrow we'll bury Ben's burnt fish in the garden,” he joked, joining his hands in prayer.  
Hunter and Ben laughed and Hunter rose from the couch, turning to look at them. “Thank you,” he murmured, before disappearing up the stairs.  
Michael snorted. “Run away before it becomes dull!” he shouted as Hunter reached the landing.  
“Is that really true?” Ben asked, after moving near him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Did you ever want anything I couldn’t give you?”  
Michael crouched against his chest, feeling himself blush at the intensity of Ben's gaze. “Even if it was there, I don’t remember it,” he replied, his voice becoming a soft whisper.  
“You know, Michael, we're lucky,” Ben told, kissing him in his soft, thick hair.  
“Really? So maybe we should buy a scratch card,” Michael joked. “A little money would make us comfortable to pay for Hunter and Mary's wedding.” Ben chuckled, stroking his shoulder. “Think about it? We'll be the groom's parents!”  
“Will you cry like your mother did at our wedding?” Ben asked.  
Michael replied with a light nudge to his side. “Emmett could take care of everything. He will give us a great price, I'm sure.”  
“They will pick their own wedding planner,” Ben stopped him.  
“… they could get married here, what do you think? Will we all be there?”  
“It depends on how many guests will be,” Ben said the moment before kissing him.  
Michael was silent, kissing his husband happily and for a long time. “And what was that for?” he asked when they broke away.  
“To keep you quiet,” Ben replied, “and because I love you, and because you made me the luckiest man on earth.”  
Michael was embarrassed that he was acting a little childish and rubbed his face against Ben's neck. “I'll have to agree with Brian if you say so too.”  
“Agree about what?” the professor asked, skeptical.  
“That we're lucky to be together.” Michael gave him a quick kiss on his lips. "You know, I think he misses Justin.”  
“Perhaps they will realize sooner or later, that they want to have what we have.”  
“A family?”  
“The awareness that, one day, we could lose everything we have.” Michael moved away from the crook of his shoulder with a worried expression. “I call this luck, Michael; I know that health could abandon me, that tomorrow may not be as happy as today and so I savor every moment, I live it as intensely as I can. I fight every day and so you do, staying by my side. This is what I tried to teach Hunter, to fight without giving up, because, even if sooner or later we could lose, we would have fully lived our existence.”  
Michael swallowed hard, his eyes moist and his heart broadened by Ben's words. He should have been used to it, yet he never got used to the effect his husband had, and he had to agree with him: they fought everyday; against illness, against prejudice, and they did not just go along with life. They were warriors, they were superheroes, and they were lucky.


	10. Mortgages on the future  [Hunter; Brian]

**10**

  
**Mortgages on the future**

**[Hunter; Brian]**

Visiting hours were over and the parking lot was almost completely empty. The St Clair Hospital stood out dark and square against the setting sun that set the clouds on fire, and the lights that were spreading near the entrance to the emergency room made the hour seem later than it was.  
He reached the entrance and looked through the glass door; blue and orange were bravely drawn together in every direction. “Come on!” he murmured to himself, crossing the door and heading to the ward where Mary worked.  
The health-care area was semi-deserted, though probably behind the closed doors some meeting of support groups was taking place. Mary was the only good thing that HIV had brought him, and though he was going to ask her to marry him, he still could not believe he was really doing it. He tossed the box with the ring he had bought in his jacket pocket and took a deep breath.  
“Hunter!” he heard himself being called by one of the elderly nurses, a round face and dyed, feathered hair. “Are you all right?” the woman asked as she tidied up some folders behind the office glass.  
“Yes thanks. I'm looking for Mary. Do you know where she is?”  
The woman laughed. “Her shift is starting now,” she looked at her watch to be sure. “Wait here. She will be here in a moment.” The nurse adjusted the blue sweater that she wore over her white coat and walked away from the door, taking away some folders.  
Hunter began tapping his fingers inside his pocket, tapping the velvet box and snorting. Perhaps he should have done this at another time. He began to walk back and forth, nervous, then he heard himself being called again. He jerked his head up and took a moment to recognize the girl in front of him.  
“Stella,” she reminded him. “You are Hunter, aren’t you?”  
“Yes… yes. Yeah,” he replied, recognizing her as the girl to whom he had loaned the Babylon card. “And you're Gus's girlfriend.”  
Stella began to rummage in her purse and handed him the card. “Thank you.”  
Hunter smiled and took it back. “Everything went fine? Were you able to save Gus?”  
She laughed and blushed a little. “Yeah, thanks to you.”  
Hunter grinned in amusement. “What are you doing here?”  
“Er…” Stella looked around, “I'm looking for some people, but I think I'm late and I do not know which room they're meeting in. It took me a lot to get here, you know, I still do not know the streets and I guess I got the wrong bus.”  
Hunter laughed and glanced at the office, but no one could be seen. “If you had arrived two minutes before you would have found a nurse, but if you wait, there should be another one along soon.”  
“Okay,” Stella agreed, and she bit her lips a bit, maybe she was nervous too, but having a chat had certainly helped her ease the tension.  
Mary arrived shortly after, her curly red hair tight in a French tail and the surprised expression at seeing Hunter there.  
“Hi… Hello,” she greeted them both and Hunter waved Stella over to ask her.  
“Hello,” she replied, looking for a moment at Hunter, a little uncertain, but stepping forward to the nurse. “I'm looking for Dr. Sullivan's support group. I think I'm late.”  
“First time?” Mary asked, smiling, “Over there. Third door to the right, you'll see that there's no problem if you're a bit late too.”  
Stella seemed to deflate, as if she had held her breath until then. Her shoulders came down a little and she turned back to greet Hunter. “Thank you,” she said to Mary, before heading for the corridor.  
“Who is Dr. Sullivan?” Hunter asked, giving her a quick kiss on her lips.  
Mary pretended to be scandalized. “Sir, are you trying with a nurse!?” she chuckled, quickly looking around, before kissing him in turn. “A very good psychologist.”  
Hunter raised an eyebrow puzzled. “Why should Stella go to a shrink?” he asked.  
“Do you know that girl?” Mary asked back, looking a little jealous and teasing him the way she would every time he looked at another woman.  
“She's Gus's girlfriend,” he explained, putting his hands forward.  
“Gus?”  
“My sister's brother,” he said.  
“Ahh!,” she commented, nodding and then scowling for a moment. “Well, maybe you should let her explain who Dr. Sullivan is.”  
“Come on, tell me at least what he takes care of!” he insisted, taking her by the hips.  
“I'm working!” she warned him.  
“I know, but I absolutely had to see you” he said, conspiratorially.  
“Why?”  
“I'll tell you if you tell me about that doctor," he tried to tease her curiosity.  
Mary snorted. “You came here to tell me, so you'll do it anyway,” she replied, not inclined to go along with him when he was acting like a kid.  
Hunter scratched his head. Mary always teased him and he loved her for that too. “She's my little brother's girl. I think I have the right to know, right?”  
“No, and I think your little brother is informed,” then looked at him with condescension, as if he were a child and leaned towards him, lowering her voice. “You have to promise not to tell anyone!” she whispered and Hunter nodded, serious and curious. She looked around quickly, as if she were about to give him some secret information and “Just read on the table next to the door” she whispered, pointing to the corridor he had come from, where several exam rooms looked out on both sides, between wings of chairs for waiting patients.  
Feeling his cheeks inflame, Hunter stood there shocked, as she burst out laughing.

“Marry me!” he said impetuously, as if it were a joke. That was not how he'd thought of asking her, but as she laughed, Hunter could only think she was wonderful and that he wanted to make her laugh all her life. He took the box from his pocket and opened it, handing it to her. “I'm serious, Mary. Do you want to marry me?”  
Mary almost choked and coughed as she saw the ring. Her green eyes widened and she looked at the golden circle with a blue eye that glistened on the black satin, and then at Hunter, and then again the ring. “Do you mean… get married? Becoming your wife?” she coughed, red in the face.  
“Do you know other ways? At least if you do not choke to death while I wait for an answer,”  
Mary threw her arms around his neck, squeezing and making him almost fall back, while she said yes, continuing to cough.  
“… or if you don’t suffocate me…” Hunter muttered, his back to the wall, before Mary kissed him with enthusiasm.  
“Yes,” she said again, before leaving him.  
Hunter waved, “Seriously?” he asked as if he could not really believe it, and when she nodded at his big smile, Hunter felt his heart swell. He removed the ring from the box and placed it on her finger. The stone was a small blue sapphire, maybe the ring was a bit large, but Mary did not complain. They both stopped to look at her left hand, feeling a little stupid and very happy or, at least, Hunter felt so. Then the chief nurse cleared her throat.  
“Quit slacking here!” she said in a sternly severe voice, and Mary shook herself.  
“Excuse me, I'm starting right now,” Mary replied instantly, blushing.  
“It's my fault,” Hunter said. “I asked her to marry me,” he told her for no other reason than that he wanted to tell everyone.  
“And what did she answer?” the woman asked, with a knowing expression on her face, and a barely held laugh.  
“Yes!” he replied, while Mary blushed even more.  
“Congratulations, then, but now, Mary, go back to work”  
Mary left Hunter with a smile very similar to his on her heart shaped face and Hunter remained for a few moments to watch her disappear along the corridor. The chief nurse cleared her throat again and he remembered where he was and walked away down the corridor with a silly smile on his face, but after passing the door he remembered to look at the name of Dr. Sullivan on the table of the department.  
He came back and saw the names of the doctors until he found what he was looking for. _Dr. H. Sullivan. Treatment and evaluation of gender dysphoria. Responsible for the transgender support group._  
“Fuck!” he blurted out in a low voice, the euphoria frozen by the sense of those few words.

* * *

It had won the habit. The music of the Babylon was deafening, the sweet and sour smell of sweat, smoke, and liquor filled the great dark environment lashed by colored flashes and swirling lights; the local fauna had partly changed, yet it still seemed the same. The fags continued to go to places like that to meet and fuck, even if there were apparently safer alternatives, _Queerblog, Grindr, Hornet…_ Brian did not know them all: the social media had multiplied more or less at the same speed with which he had lost interest in the phenomenon. He preferred to fuck rather than to stay and chat with some stranger who promised his ass and then did not have the guts to put his fantasies into practice.  
He let his eyes wander over the sweaty bodies that were struggling on the trail. Years before he would have chosen prey and would have descended into the arena; that evening he could only think that Gus must have been home for a while now. He hoped that the first day of school had gone well and that he was able to fix the dinner with what was in the fridge. Justin had gone shopping, before leaving. He should have been home with his son, but he did not make it. Gus had not spoken to him yet and it was easy to leave everything behind at Babylon, at least for a few hours.  
He waited until the usual barman looked up at him, blue eyes that looked for him with curious regularity, and beckoned him to join him as soon as possible. He watched him serve a couple of cocktails and ask a colleague to replace him, then the boy reached his office, that kind of partially soundproof cubicle, in the sense that, there, the music did not smash the eardrums and, if the phone rang, he could hear it. Ted kept Babylon's accounting, like the rest of his accounts, but a closet to call the office was convenient, especially since he had ceased to frequent the backroom. It had been a good idea to make that space, after the explosion. Although there was no paperwork, there was a chair and a desk with locked drawers, and Brian dropped onto the first, behind the second. He undid his belt and waited.  
The door opened a little later, for a moment the music invaded the room, then the boy closed it and, without saying a word, knelt between Brian's thighs, opened his trousers and lifted his shirt, gently kissing his belly before Brian urged him to get down on his erection. He liked to dip his hand in the boy's blonde hair and watch his head move slowly, licking and sucking it with a veneration that took his breath away. He did not remember his name, but he was a virtuoso of tongue, and that was enough; he did almost the best blowjobs that Brian remembered and was _comfortable._ He did not ask questions, did not say anything, swallowed and then went away with a smile on his regular face and eyes that shone, and Brian loved to come in his mouth, his lips were florid and soft.  
The door opened again, the music echoing for a moment, before being closed again. "Go on!" Brian ordered, stroking his blond head that he had not hinted at, and looked towards the door. A man stood cross-legged, his shoulders leaning against the wall, watching him, and Brian grinned. It was so much that he had no public, but it was never a problem to be watched while fucking or being suckled. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the chair, letting himself feel the orgasm.  
When he opened his eyes, the barman was already leaving and his spectator approached. Brian closed his pants and straightened up in his chair. “What do I owe this visit to, _Brandon?”_ he asked with a sideways smile that he had no intention of appearing sincere.  
Brandon pointed with his thumb to his shoulders, towards the now closed door. “Are you doing it with the employees, Kinney?” he asked in an ironic tone and Brian opened his arms in surrender.  
“I have a weakness for blondes, you caught me,” he stayed at the game.  
“How old is he?” he asked again, and Brian shrugged.  
“Almost thirty, I think,”  
Brandon nodded, making himself known. “And that he looks like your boyfriend is just a bonus,”  
“He does not look like Justin,” Brian denied even though it was why he had chosen him, the first time. “What did you come here for?”  
“I thought the Babylon was a public place”  
“I meant here in my office,” Brian said shortly.  
“There's a rumor that your son is in town, and that he's giving you trouble,” Brandon replied, not digressing any further.  
“Even if it’s true, it's not your business,” Brian snapped, his gaze hardened suddenly, wondering who among his friends had such a big mouth.  
Brandon sat down on the desk, looking pensive. “We have not become friends, but we have known each other for quite a few years…”  
“Yeah, and you continue to be a total pussy.”  
Brandon snorted, raising a corner of his mouth. “You, on the other hand, have remained the usual arrogant, assuming asshole, but I want to tell you one thing anyway, Kinney, so plug your mouth and listen.”  
Brian assumed his best bored air and gave him a professional smile, the kind of smile he reserved for stupid customers. “I'm all ears,” he assured him.  
“I don’t know how to raise a child, and I don’t even care to know. I have no desire for repressed paternity, but I know that it is the common aspiration of all parents to see that children have inherited their values…”  
“I'll ask Gus’s mothers if that's the case and then I'll let you know.”  
“What I mean, big dickhead, is that it was probably your father's wish, and I don’t think you came up as your old man hoped, but you're happy anyway, aren’t you?” Brandon looked at him with his piercing eyes and a smile that said how he felt superior in his speech. “So, let your son make his choices. He will be happy in his own way.”  
Brian scratched his chin and looked at him satisfactorily. “Such wisdom, Thomas Paine! If you're done with your talk show pearls, I think you can go fuck yourself!” he snapped.  
Brandon slid languidly down from the desk. “Just one last thing, mister perfect, that guy you let suck your dick, I don’t know if you noticed, but he loves you. I don’t understand why, but try not to break his heart.”  
Brian laughed. “Since when do you care about the heart of a little moffie you don’t even know? Did you fuck him?”  
“I'll see you in the office in a couple of days, Kinney, and I hope your campaign for my company is incredible or my boss will turn to someone else without hesitation,” Brandon told him, instead of answering him.  
“You can swear!” Brian snorted. He waited for Brandon to leave him alone and allowed himself a few moments of respite before getting up and going back where time did not flow. When the door opened, too many decibels risked bursting the eardrums. Something inside him stirred, but he immediately dismissed it, he was not too old for the disco, he never would have been. All this, that music, the movement of bodies, was part of their culture, it was his world, his life, and he was the lord and the master of all these.  
He returned to let his gaze wander through the crowd; at the bar, a guy was talking to his bartender, laughing, looking happy, and Brian was surprised to wonder why he was. Then Brandon joined the man who was with him and wrapped his arms around him, joining the conversation. They seemed to know each other, and at that moment Brian recognized Brandon's boyfriend; he had to be a friend of the barman. He looked at him with a sort of curiosity; that idiot with whom, years ago, had made a stupid bet, now had a partner, one that Brian would not have looked twice: beautiful body, but eyes too far. He was there with him, though. He tried to push the thought away, but that, by now, had already said what it had to say.


	11. The Crying game  [Debbie; Paul]

**11**

  
**The Crying game**

**[Debbie; Paul]**

 

The chewing gum was starting to be hard and tasteless under her teeth and Debbie looked around, never a dick of trash can when she was looking for one, but she had almost reached Michael's house, so she continued to chew until she rang the bell.  
Michael opened the door for her in a few moments and Debbie, smiling, took out her chewing gum and gave it to her son.

“Hi, honey,” she greeted as she entered the house.  
“Hi, Mom,” he said, taking the chewed gum with an automatic gesture, raising his eyes to the sky when he realized what he was holding.  
“Hi, guys!” the woman greeted cheerfully, stepping into the dining room where Ben and Hunter were still clearing the table and the smell of food hung around invitingly. “I heard the great news!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, going to her grandson. “Have you already set a date?”  
“Fuck!” The boy snapped, “You told her already?” he moaned, looking for his two fathers. Ben opened his arms with a smile of apology, as he went to greet the newcomer with a kiss on the cheek.  
“Watch your mouth!” Michael said, coming out of the kitchen, “Do you think I couldn’t tell my mother!?”  
Hunter snorted, while Ben chuckled, now resigned to his husband's symbiotic relationship with his mother. “Do you want to have it announced by Ellen DeGeneres, while you're at it?” the betrothed insisted, moving a chair to bring it closer to the one on which a gloating Debbie had taken a seat.  
“And how long should I have to wait to find out!?” she asked with her best frown, and Hunter was careful not to risk a slap and a sermon.  
“Maybe I wanted to tell you!” he replied with his most innocent expressions.  
Debbie pinched his cheek, a toothy smile on her made-up lips, then pulled the brand-new laptop out of the square bag. She lit it with a finger from the long red fingernail, feeling already projected into the future, and watched the monitor turn blue and fill with icons. Michael, meanwhile, stretched out on the couch, intending to read the last issue of his new favorite comic, and Ben took a seat in his chair, with his laptop on his knees.  
“What do we do today?” Debbie asked enthusiastically as the computer turned on and she opened her mailbox before Hunter had answered her. “But no one wrote to me!” she complained immediately, seeing that there were no new messages.  
“Did you give someone your address?” Hunter asked her, as Michael chuckled.  
“Of course I did!” Debbie replied, “I gave it to all my friends!”  
“With the same people you spend hours on the phone with every day?” Michael interjected, without taking his eyes off the comic book.  
“So what?” Debbie snapped. “Even if we speak, they could still write to me!” she said, then changed her tone and whimpered, “If no one writes me, how the fuck will I learn to use this thing!?”  
With a low, amused tone, Ben reassured her, “Don't worry, Debbie, I'm writing to you.” The professor began to type with confidence on the keyboard and a few moments later the familiar sound of the mail management program announced to Debbie the arrival of a new email.  
“Yeah!” the woman rejoiced, “Thank you, honey!” Using only her index fingers she began to write a short answer, while Hunter shook his head disconsolately.  
“I was thinking of teaching you how to use torrents to download movies to your computer,” Hunter suggested, keeping track of what she was doing.  
“Sure, and what can I do with it? I can watch them on TV or go to the movies.”  
Hunter snorted as if he had to explain the obvious, “To see them for free, before they arrive on television.”  
Ben chuckled. “I doubt that the films that Debbie likes are on the pirate channels.”  
“As far as you know, there could be a lot of fags who appreciate Joan Crawford,” Hunter replied, catching a glare from Debbie.  
“Just don't confuse YouPorn with YouTube,” Michael joked, turning the page to the comic book.  
“What's YouPorn?” Debbie asked, already typing the name into the search engine.  
Before anyone could answer them, a shrill sound rang out in the room, “Jesus Christ!” Debbie put a hand to her heart and opened her eyes, moving closer to the monitor. “That can not be true!” she commented after a long evaluation, while Hunter laughed at her side.  
Michael jumped up with discreet agility, reaching his mother and blocking the explicit suggestions proposed by the channel. He closed the page and canceled the chronology.  
“I do not want you to look at that stuff!” he pronounced with the tone of the parent who caught his son in the act.  
“Do you think I've never seen one?” his mother asked, raising her eyebrows and looking at him sufficiently. “Maybe not so big,” she winked, and Hunter laughed even louder before seeing the dark expression of Michael.  
“What would Carl think if he found out you was using the computer to look for porn movies?” Michael insisted.  
“Well, maybe he would get some ideas!” She grinned and this time not even Ben could keep from laughing.  
Michael gasped, before retreating with his hands pressed to his ears. “I do not want to hear these speeches from my mother! I do not even want to think about you ever having had sex in your life!”  
“Well, honey, if I had never done it, you wouldn’t be here now!” Debbie chuckled, knowing she had won the moment her son curled up on the couch with an abandoned puppy expression.  
Hunter, who was laughing, added fuel to the fire, “I'll buy you a t-shirt with the inscription ‘gr.i.l.f.’,” he said, looking at her proudly.  
“And what the fuck is a _grif?”_ Debbie asked, gazing at her grandson, and ignoring her son.  
“Gr.i.l.f.,” Hunter corrected. “A sexy grandma who gets horny friends of her grandchildren.”  
Debbie smiled wide, certain that the shameless boy was her worthy grandson. “So I want to be a grilf!”  
“You can not _want it,_ Mom. It does not depend on you!” Michael stood up, clinging to the back of the sofa, with the expression on his face of someone who wanted to be very far from there.  
“I'm sure Carl agrees!” she insisted.  
“Carl is your husband!” Michael insisted, trying to make her understand that the old policeman's opinion, in that case, did not count.  
“Debbie, didn’t you have to check the results?” Ben interrupted, probably out of pity towards his husband, even though his lips were still spread in a smile more like a laugh.  
“Oh, you're right, Ben. Wait till I get the acceptance sheet…” she answered, looking in her bag while Hunter took possession of her laptop.  
“First of all,” the boy began, a crooked smile on his lips, “we have to go to the hospital site…”  
When Debbie took her hands from the bag with the white hospital envelope in her fingers, she looked at the monitor, confused. “What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, pointing to the many windows that opened one after the other, while Hunter saw them and closed them in rapid succession.  
“I'm looking for a doctor while you're looking for your paperwork,” he replied in a falsely bored tone.  
“What do you need a doctor for?” she asked, immediately frowning, while Ben and Michael looked over their son’s head and exchanged a dubious look.  
“What doctor are you looking for?” Ben asked him, while Michael echoed him more worriedly,

“Are you all right?” He asked.  
Hunter grinned, pretending nothing. “It's not for me,” he said, flashing an amused glance at his parents. “You'll never guess who I met in the hospital!”  
“Who?” Debbie asked curiously.  
Hunter grinned, glancing from one to the other before answering, “Stella.”  
“Stella?” Michael asked. “What was she doing in the hospital?”  
Hunter found the list of the doctors at St Clair Hospital and went through it until he found the name of Stella's doctor. “She had to see a certain Dr. Sullivan.”  
Debbie sighed, putting her hand to her chest again, though for a moment she was tempted to shove a sack to Hunter. “But do you want to stop worrying me!?” she snapped. “The other night she had a meeting with the transgender support group,” she said, as if it were an obvious thing, gloating about Hunter's amazed face.  
“You know about that?” the boy snapped, gaping, and Debbie looked at him with a small smile.  
“That Stella has a pea in the middle of her legs instead of a pussy?” she asked ironically,

“Honey, I’ll remind you that she lives in my house!”  
For a few moments the three men remained in amazed silence, until Michael broke it with the question everyone was thinking, “But Gus then…”  
Hunter shrugged. “Maybe he's bisexual,” he commented as if the affair did not trouble him at all, but Michael and Ben exchanged a worried look that did not escape Debbie.

“Well?” she asked, “what are those faces for?”  
“I wonder if Brian knows,” Michael replied.  
“Sure he knows,” Debbie snorted, “and he didn’t take it very well, though I don't understand why. That poor girl had to run away from home to start hormone therapy.”  
“It's not that simple, Debbie,” Ben said, “though many things are explained now.”  
“No, it's not!”, she answered suddenly, then frowning, she asked, “What do you mean?”  
Ben shook his head and stretched his lips. “According to some, transgender people are not even part of the l.g.b.t. with full rights…”  
“And what does this mean?”  
“That Stella may have fewer friends than she thinks,” Michael replied.  
“Why?” Debbie asked, looking at her son and son-in-law, waiting for an answer.  
Ben sat down in the armchair. “Because being gay has to do with sexual orientation, while being transsexual is about gender identity, the perception that one has of oneself…” he began to explain to them, being interrupted by Debbie's haste, who asked, “So what?”  
“Then there are gay, straight, and bisexual transgender people…” Ben said, “and regardless of who they love, it's all confusing because… beyond their being men or women, their body does not match their identity.”  
“And do you think there's a good reason to say they're not part of the community? How would you feel if they told you something like that?” Debbie snapped.  
“To exclude them from the community would mean isolating them even more than they already are,” Ben said, cautiously, “but not everyone thinks the same way.”  
“Well, I do not like the way these assholes think!” she said, dismissing the argument.  
Hunter looked at his grandmother with a smug smirk on his lips and then turned with sufficient air to his fathers. “Well, I've been with both men and women, and I can say that it does not make all this difference.”

* * *

Millions of stars had lit on the earth, the sounds were distant and muffled, but the city never slept. New York was sleepless, a distracted lover who slips into bed still dressed.  
Paul, on the other hand, had slipped out of bed, taking care not to disturb Justin. He had put on his sweatpants and turned on the lamp on the desk in the corner of the living room. He had read for an hour, before lying on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. The night was the best time to think.  
When Justin appeared at the bedroom door, he could have believed he was asleep; he looked at him with dark eyes, his breath slow, while his partner looked at the book with yellowed pages that he had left open, with the cover at the top, under the warm light of the lamp.  
_“A Pocket full of Rye_ , 1953,” he said quietly, revealing to Justin that he was awake.

Justin winced and dropped the book, going towards him. “You're awake.”  
“I needed to think,” Paul answered, sitting up.  
“I hope that book is not that old,” Justin said, amused, “I know you miss Murple, but we're going to pick her up tomorrow.” He sat on his lap, kissing him lightly on his lips and Paul surrounded him with his arms.  
“It's an 80s edition that I found in a flea market,” he replied, kissing him in turn. “And it was already slated.”  
“Aren’t you cold?” Justin asked, running his hands over his bare arms and shoulders and Paul just shook his head. “Why can’t you sleep?” he asked then.  
Paul was silent for a few moments, still wondering if it was right to interfere, but could not help it, pretend nothing and let it go. That situation was becoming paradoxical, but there was not only them, Justin had let others into their world and he could not pretend that it wasn’t. “Since you came to stay here…” he began quietly, “I… I have always had one desire, that one day you would tell me ‘I’m staying, I'm not going anywhere’.” He sighed, “I asked you to marry me, hoping that this would spur you to make a decision, to choose between Kinney and me…”  
“Paul…” Justin straightened his back, putting a small distance between them.  
“No, let me finish,” he interrupted, taking his hand and squeezing it into his own. “You did not give me any answer, and that's already an answer, Justin,” he explained calmly, bringing his hand to his lips and kissing his fingers. “Now, though, I still think you should go back to Pittsburgh…”  
“What?” Justin said incredulously.  
“I keep thinking about what you told me,” Paul told him. “I keep thinking about that girl, Stella, who is facing Kinney alone, with the only support of a boy just bigger than she is.”  
“Brian is not a criminal! What do you think he will do to her?!” Justin spat.  
“Nothing, but you said that he doesn't look favorably at his son's relationship with this girl.”  
“Brian would not hurt a fly!”  
Paul shook his head. “You're the best part of Brian,” he told him without hesitation because that was the crux of the matter. “You must be there to make sure he doesn’t do anything wrong, that he doesn’t hurt her feelings…”  
“There will always be someone who will hurt her.”  
“But someone will not be her boyfriend's father, he will not be a man so much older than she is, and with the ability to annihilate others that man has. Justin, you yourself were one of his victims.”  
Justin turned away from him as if he had burned himself. “I was the one who wanted it!” he repeated for what must have been the millionth time.  
“Yes, you wanted it and then you left to look for your place in the world, not to stay in the shadow of an authoritarian man who wants to control everything and everyone. It was you who said it.”

Justin bit his lower lip, his eyes lowered and his breathing quickened, and Paul looked at him, giving him time to take the shot before he spoke again. “In the half of the United States there are no laws against discrimination based on sexual orientation at work, and young gays and lesbians and transsexual boys are four times more at risk of suicide than straight boys. According to statistics, 25% of trans guys tried to commit suicide at least once in their life.”  
He moistened his lips, shaking his head, “Last year there were twenty-one murders of transsexuals in the United States, the highest number ever recorded. Most of them were black women,” he sighed again. “How can I be comfortable knowing that there's a girl alone in Pittsburgh, for whom you could make a difference?”  
Justin snorted. “And then? Should I save kids from the street?”  
“No, but this is not an unnamed girl in the Hudson, she's the girlfriend of what you said you considered your child.”  
Justin shook his head and Paul held him a little closer, searching for the gleam of his eyes in the darkness of the room. “I have to work,” Justin tried to shield himself. “I have an exhibition to organize, paintings to finish, and customers who come to see my work at the studio.”  
“How much of that really requires you to stay here?” he asked again. He knew that Justin had to work hard to stay afloat in New York's competitive arts scene. Although several critics had been interested in him and he had exhibited in several galleries, New York would soon forget him if he had not been there to court them, yet he also knew that Justin remained mainly because he loved the city.  
Paul hoped to be one of the reasons for that love, but he was not sure. Justin kept going back to Pittsburgh every month and did not lie to him saying that he was going to his mother, he told him without hesitation that he was going back to Kinney, as if he wanted to punish him for his love. Paul recognized that guilt, he loved Justin more than Justin loved him.  
Justin shook his head, without looking at him. “I should get organized, find someone…”  
“I'm not giving up on you,” Paul interrupted. “I want this to be clear,” he told him tightly. Justin's skin was starting to get cold and Paul ran his hands slowly but firmly.  
“Prove it!” Justin challenged him in a kind of game he did often, and Paul pushed him onto the couch, slipping on his body and leaving a damp trail on his chest, Justin's pale skin warmed with every kiss, every bite with which he marked it. He put his fingers under the rubber band of his boxers, waiting for his consent and when Justin lifted his hips, he slipped them off, stroking his legs and then put his ankles on his shoulders. He held them tight as he looked at the pale glow of his eyes, listening to his breathing grow heavier for a leave to have him into him.  
He slid his palms through the blond hairs on his legs, and began to massage him slowly, his glans moistening his wet and swollen fingers and testicles; he was hard too, and he wanted it. It was madness to tell him to spend more time in Pittsburgh… He lowered his trousers as much as necessary, feeling the turgid sex; the first drops of semen were also accumulating on its tip. They would not have been enough to lubricate it, but a little pain would not stop them. He took him hard.  
Justin hissed, the friction stopped both by the time of a moan, then the desire won every resistance and Paul began to push into him, the clutch that mixed pain and pleasure in a sort of metaphor of their relationship. When Justin's groans grew louder and his back arched, Paul sought his lips to kiss again, the climax of the embrace delayed for a few moments, prolonging the ecstasy as they breathed from the other's mouth, the muscles of Justin who clung around him as if to push him to continue, and Paul began to move his hips, adoring every sound that his partner emitted, adoring the burning rubbing between them, until Justin came and he got stuck in him as deep as he could.


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

  
**Who fears love**

**[Brian; Michael]**

 

“Brian, they called from the school,” Cynthia said, entering his office. “The principal wants to see you”  
Brian raised his head from the concept he was looking at, “The Principal of St James?” he asked, ready to kick Gus in the ass for whatever he had done.  
Cynthia frowned and checked the card she held in her hand. “No, the principal of the public high school.” She looked back at him, wrinkling her nose and asked, “Is there anything I should know?”  
Brian frowned and then glared at her. “When should I see him?”  
“It would be better if you went right away. Mrs. White from White Dental called to cancel her appointment this morning,” an expression of malevolent satisfaction was painted on her face. “Apparently she was hit by a terrible toothache.”  
Brian grinned. “You’ve got to love the irony.” He commented seraphically, exchanging a knowing look with Cynthia. He took his jacket from the back of the chair and retrieved the car keys from the drawer. “I'll be back after lunch,” he warned as he headed for the exit.  
Along the way he stopped to have a coffee in an attempt to gain some time. It had been years since he had approached the old high school where he and Michael had studied, and it had a strange effect on him to travel the road that led to those concrete steps on which he had sat one day, determined not to return home. When he arrived in front of the school he noticed the addition of a ramp for the disabled in the same depressing gray as the steps. He looked at the square building for a few moments, swallowing a handful of memories before deciding to enter.  
As soon as he opened the glass door he sensed that unmistakable smell of sweat and hormones that characterized adolescents and could not help grinning, it had not been all that disgusting after all. The school did not seem to change much in those years; the usual warnings on the gray walls and the fire extinguishers that nobody knew how to use, the closed doors of the classrooms where the lessons were being held. The students were still in class and he did not see anyone. When he arrived at the corridor leading to the gym he hesitated for a moment, but then he walked briskly to the principal's office, assuming it was in the same place it had been in years ago.  
Stella was sitting on one of the chairs placed outside the principal's office. The girl stood up as soon as she saw him, without stepping forward, the eyeshadow smeared over her eyes and the air mortified.  
“Why does the principal want to see _me?”_ he asked, harder than he wanted.  
“I'm sorry, I… I did not know who else to call,” she apologized.  
“You could have called Debbie,” he said sharply. Though, at Stella's dubious expression, he had to admit it would not be a great idea. He snorted. “What did you do?” he asked, this time more patiently.  
“It's better that the principal tells you,” the girl replied, turning to knock on the office door.  
When they entered, Brian took a quick look at the room; it was as he remembered it, even though the old shelves had been replaced with metal cabinets with sliding doors and there was less paperwork around. An old bulky PC occupied one side of the desk behind which sat a man who was too fat and with no fashion sense. Brian pulled out his most charming smile as he shook the hand. “Brian Kinney,” he introduced himself, “my secretary said you wanted to see me.”  
The principal shook his hand, inviting him to sit down. “I'm Principal Wilson, happy to meet you, Mr. Kinney,” he greeted him without showing any sign of interest in him. “You're Steve's guardian, then.”  
Brian frowned, turning to look at Stella for a moment. She sat next to him, still looking down. And Brian, beginning to understand, looked back at the principal. “Is there any problem?”  
Mr. Wilson cleared his throat. “Well,” he pointed at Stella, “I guess the problem is obvious.”  
Brian crossed his legs, his rapacious eyes fixed on the man's face and a complacency on his lips. “I'm afraid I’m not following you.”  
“Steve has been reprimanded almost every day since he started attending this school, but since he did not listen to teachers, he was sent to me. You can imagine the reaction of teachers and classmates when, during roll call, they noticed the inappropriate attire of the boy.”  
Brian ran a hand over his chin and looked again at Stella; a solid-colored t-shirt and a denim jacket, a denim miniskirt and heavy socks. There were dozens of girls dressed like that, but clearly, that was not the problem. “So I was called exclusively for a matter of outfits?” he asked ironically. “I imagine that in your school measures are also taken against the boys who wear those disgusting rapper pants with low crotch and underwear in sight or the girls too low-necked or make-up like…”  
The principal cleared his throat. “Mr. Kinney, the problem is not limited to clothing, but to the use of bathrooms, locker rooms…”  
“Baths?” Brian echoed, raising an eyebrow and the principal looked slightly uncomfortable for the first time.  
“Steve can not use the girls' bathroom,” the principal said with absolute certainty.  
“Then she could use that of the teachers,” suggested Brian, catching the principal by surprise, who stared at him bewildered.  
After a few moments of bewilderment, Wilson shook his head and said; “As the name implies, the teachers bathroom is reserved ‘for teachers’.”  
Brian nibbled at his lower lip, seemingly overwhelmed and then turned to Stella. “Are you interested in playing some sport?” She shook her head, looking at him in confusion. “Then you will be exempt from sporting activities.” He went back to the principal; “So half of the problem is solved, but now you have to meet us halfway, Principal Wilson,” Brian smiled at him again, “I'm sure you would prefer to let Stella use the teachers' bathroom instead of finding in the _Pittsburgh Post-Gazette_ tomorrow an article about the rampant homophobia among the faculty of his school,” he paused, “you know how the press likes this kind of thing,” he shrugged and sighed, “in no time at all the news would go around the state and your name would go very far.”  
Principal Wilson gasped. “This… this is…”  
Brian interrupted him, before the principal said something unseemly. “But there might be another solution, Principal Wilson,” he leaned forward, tapping his left forefinger on the CRT monitor. “The school could receive a donation. What about a renewal of the computer lab? A new computer may come out of it for you too. Programs updated to the latest version, flat screens… Obviously I will personally take care of sending you a trusted technician to install all the terminals.”  
The man behind the desk swallowed noisily and Brian smiled, satisfied.  
When, soon after, he and Stella got in the car, the problem had been solved. “Fucking heterosexuals!” Brian snapped after closing the car door violently, “If you're not like them, if you don’t do what they want, if you don’t bend their rules, you're just trash to get rid of… Take it.” he said as he handed Stella a handkerchief and pointed to her eyes. She looked at herself in the mirror of the visor and put a corner of the handkerchief in her mouth to clear her drooled eyeshadow, just as any girl would have done.  
“Thank you,” she murmured, still reeling.  
“Where am I taking you?” Brian asked, setting the car in motion. The street was filling up with students leaving school and he wanted to avoid hitting someone.  
“The diner, if you don’t mind.”  
Brian pulled onto the road, his eyes fixed on rush-hour traffic. Maybe he should have said something to her, only he had no idea what it was, but it was Stella who broke the silence.  
“Nobody ever defended me before,” she said, his voice a little hoarse, “except for Gus… even though…”  
“Though...?” Brian said.  
“Gus has not bribed anyone,” she snorted, looking amused, despite everything.  
“It's just business,” Brian cut out, turning onto Liberty Avenue.  
“And my debt with you increases.” Stella bent her head, biting her bottom lip as she rubbed Brian's handkerchief in her hands.  
“Not so much,” he reassured her. “There's a computer company among my clients. They will get me a good price and I will ask Michael and Ben's son to take care of the installation.”  
Brian was silent for a few moments, but that situation made him uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable chauffeuring his son's girlfriend, so he went on talking, “And then, it's always nice to put it in some bigoted and homophobic pig’s ass.”  
“And you put it in his ass?” Stella asked, not quite understanding.  
Brian stretched his lips in a forced smile. “You will continue to dress as you please and use the teachers' bathroom and they will have to accept the donation of a fag. Do you think he does not burn his ass thanking us for the new computer room that the students will enjoy?”  
“Maybe you're right.”  
Brian glanced at her quickly. “I did not mean you were gay.”  
Stella just smiled, looking down, “No problem,” she told him. “My parents never understood the difference. Since I was born with a male body, the fact that I wanted to dress like a girl and that I liked boys, for them meant that I was gay.”  
“When I told my father I'm gay, he wished me dead, and my mother prays every day for my soul that’s condemned to hell,” he sneered, “but my father has long since died and my mother atones for her guilt in a retirement home.”  
“My mother used to say I'm going to hell.” Brian noticed that the girl was fighting again with tears. They had almost reached the diner by now, and he slowed down to give her time to calm down. “I wanted…” The voice died in her throat, but she did not need to continue, Brian knew what she was going to say.  
“Listen to me, Stella,” he said, “are you listening? Nobody has the right to tell you what you are or are not. No dickhead, no homophobe, no parent, or boyfriend, so go ahead on your way and don’t let anyone get in the way. Is that clear?” he asked as he stopped a few feet from the diner to let her out.  
Stella nodded, trying to smile. “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked as she unlatched her seat belt.  
“I have an appointment.”  
Stella breathed deeply, regaining control. “Thank you, Mr. Kinney.” She leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek, before getting out of the car.

* * *

When Michael turned the sign to “Closed” on the shop door, Brian stopped pacing like a soul in pain. The clients seemed to have taken root that day, and his best friend had dispensed incinerator glances to every teenager who had lingered to leaf through a comic book or who had paid in pennies, lengthening the time before getting out of the way.  
“So, do you want to tell me what happened?” Michael asked, as Brian dropped onto the couch at the back of the store.  
“Who said something happened?”, he asked angrily as he followed him.

Michael chuckled, reaching him on the sofa with his lunch bag. “Do you want to taste my sandwich?” he asked as he pulled out the foil wrap.  
Brian snorted, “Is this some kind of indecent proposal?” He glanced skeptically at the sandwich that appeared slowly between the flaps of the foil.  
“Only if you want an orgy with saturated fats,” Michael replied, proudly showing his sandwich dripping mayonnaise.  
“Does your husband know you betray him with sauces?”  
“It will be our little secret” replied Michael, handing it to him. After Brian shook his head, Michael took a big bite that made a satisfied expression appear on his face.  
“Pathetic!” Brian chuckled, watching him eat. "Do you not know that you're too old to eat junk food?”  
Michael grumbled, “Speak for yourself. My metabolism still burns very well.” He took another bite and then, with his mouth full, added, “And then I can always do extra exercise with my husband.” He smiled at Brian's theatrically disgusted expression and continued eating until he had finished his lunch.  
He rolled up the foil and put it back in the bag, pulling out a can of LaCroix. Brian also refused the drink.  
“So? Do you want to tell me what's wrong?” Michael asked again as he held the straw from the fruit juice between his lips.  
Brian leaned his head back against the broken couch, sighing heavily. “Before I forget, tell your son I'll need him for a job.”  
“Have you decided to change the Kinnetik computers?”  
“No, but I bought a new computer lab for the Pittsburgh High School.”  
Michael almost choked. “What?” he asked incredulously as he struck his chest with one hand.  
Brian pursed his lips, not looking at Michael, and added grimly, “And Stella kissed me.”

Fortunately, Michael had not started drinking again. “On the cheek.” Brian said as Michael stared at him. “Yeah, my son's girlfriend kissed me on the cheek!” Brian's tone was angry, but Michael could not help but laugh.  
“I did not think I would live long enough to see Brian Kinney pissed off because someone kissed him!” he continued to laugh.  
Brian looked at him wrong."She's Gus's girlfriend!"  
“Yeah, but… she's still a boy, and you can’t see how ridiculous it is that you pick it up 'cause a boy gave you a kiss!”  
Brian snorted and ran his hands over his face. “I don't like Gus dating her.”  
Michael finished the drink and put the can in the bag, setting it on the ground. “What did you do to deserve a kiss, Mr. Long face? Does the computer room have something to do with it?”  
“The only long thing I have is in my pants,” Brian said, more out of habit than anything else.  
“Not as long as your face at the moment.” Michael smiled as he looked at him. He knew it was Brian who persuaded Stella to go back to school. He also asked Ben to help her in her studies, if that was necessary, and now this. As someone who did not want to be a father, Brian was doing well, both with Gus and with Stella.  
“The principal of the high school called me this morning. Some homophobic dickhead teacher demanded that she dress like a boy and use the men's baths and locker room. Holy Christ, but don't have they eyes!? Should she undress in front of a bunch of teenagers in heat!?”  
Michael shook his head. “And from this, how did you get to the computers?”  
“I convinced the principal to let her use the teachers’ bathroom in exchange for a small donation.”  
“You’re working awfully hard for a girl you don't like” Michael said.  
Brian was silent for a few moments. “I didn't say that I don’t like Stella. She has more balls than most boys her own age.”  
“So what's the problem?”  
“I don’t want her to date Gus. I don’t want Gus to invest so much on someone who will stop existing. I don’t want him to suffer.”  
“Who said he will suffer?” Michael asked him. “Even Ben and I were worried when Hunter told us he was straight. We were afraid of not being able to help him, that his girlfriend would judge him because he had two fathers…”  
“Your son is not dating Lili Elbe!” Brian blurted out, “If Gus was straight, I’d have some closure, but Gus likes cock!”  
Michael shook his head, “Maybe Gus is really bisexual, maybe he loves her enough to care if she's a man or a woman.”  
“Oh, Michael! You know how these things go,” he said bitterly, and Michael realized that Brian was really worried about his son, but maybe there was something else too. It seemed to him that Brian was _tired,_ and wanted Justin to be there to take care of him, rather than in New York. “Gus met her when she was a boy, he fell in love with her like a lesbian and followed her in this madness, but Stella will become a full-fledged woman, and Gus will not be able to stay with her,” Brian continued. “And even if he were bisexual, sooner or later he will have to make a choice. He will have to take sides if he does not want to be an outcast.”  
“It's not a war, Brian, there are no camps, haven’t you figured it out yet? We're not faggots against hetero.”  
“You know as well as I do that faggots don't trust those who say they are bisexual. And straight men consider bisexuals like exotic animals,” Brian said.  
“Things change,” Michael insisted. “Gus is young, but he's smart; he’ll make his choices when it's time to make them.”  
“He’s too young to get involved,” Brian persuaded, in a voice so loud that he would have frightened someone who had not been Michael.  
“He’s the same age Justin was when he fell in love with you,” Michael reminded him, trying to calm him down. “that’s the point, isn’t it? Justin’s your yardstick. You want for Gus someone who loves him as you love Justin, someone with whom he can build a relationship like yours… though I must remind you that your beginning was not the easiest.”  
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Brian asked, frowning, but Michael had the impression that Brian hesitated for a moment and his smile spread across his face. He barely restrained himself from hugging his friend, because he knew that Brian would snaps if he felt too exposed.  
“I say you love your son, and I know you don't want him to suffer, but growing up also means making mistakes and suffering.” Michael shrugged and kept smiling. “But Gus will always have you and Lindsay and Melanie ready to support him.”  
“Bullshit!” Brian snapped. “I worry because my son thinks like a lesbian and may ruin his future for a young girl who may not be the right person at all!”  
Michael leaned over to kiss him on the lips, a quick kiss and with the snap, to immediately smile again. “You're pathetic!” he said, charged with affection. “I know you don't want to hear it, but Gus will suffer and fall, but then he'll get up like we all did.” He put a finger on Brian's lips to stop him from arguing and he raised his eyes to the ceiling, pretending to be exasperated. “Love is never wrong, Brian,” Michael continued, “even when it hurts. Let him have his experiences, after all, you have had them too.” Michael laughed again and Brian got up from the couch, looking at him crooked, before bending over to kiss him. He did not expect Brian to thank him, but it was as if he had done it. Then Brian Kinney left the comic book shop and Michael could devote himself to inventory.


	13. How much do the desires count  [Lindsay; Brian]

**13**

  
**How much do the desires count**

[Lindsay; Brian]

 

“Hello?” When Lindsay answered the phone, she did not expect to hear Justin's voice.  
_“Hi, Linz,”_ he greeted her, on the other side of the receiver, _“how are you?”_  
Lindsay called her wife hurriedly, and Melanie, with a dishcloth in her hand, was immediately beside her. “We're all fine. Wait a moment, I’ll put on speakerphone,” she said as Melanie mimed with her lips ‘who is it?’  
Lindsay pushed the button of the speaker and the first sound that was heard was the barking of a dog. “Here you are, Justin. How are you?”  
“Justin!?” Melanie asked incredulously. “Darling how are you? What a surprise to hear from you!”  
_“Hi, Melanie,”_ Justin replied, _“I'm fine. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”_  
“Oh, come on, honey,” Melanie replied, as Lindsay held a laugh, the house was a mess, they had just finished lunch and there were still dishes on the table. “We're glad to hear you, but what do we owe this surprise?” The lawyer got straight to the point, looking at Linz as if to ask her there was something going on; Justin never showed up, except for birthdays and major holidays, and most of the time it was to apologize for not being able to visit them or be unable to be in Pittsburgh.  
On the other side of the line they heard barking again and then Justin laughed, a little tense. _“You're right, Mel. I have to ask Lindsay a favor.”_

“Of course, Justin, tell me,” Linz said, exchanging a meaningful glance with Melanie.  
“Then I leave you alone,” the woman interrupted, “I'm going to check Jenny's fever. A kiss, Justin.”  
_“Is Jenny sick?”_ Justin asked, but Melanie was already out of the kitchen.  
“Nothing serious, don’t worry,” Lindsay reassured him, “she’s just got a cold…” Lindsay leaned over to check that her wife was out of earshot, took off the speaker and brought the phone back to her ear, “and there was a task for which she did not feel ready,” she added, chuckling. Justin burst out laughing.  
“What do you want to ask me?” the woman asked, returning the conversation to the subject of the call.  
Justin cleared his throat and hesitated. Lindsay sensed that it must be something serious and sat down, moving the plate back so that she could rest her arm on the table. _“Could you come to New York?”_  
“What?” she asked, convinced she had not understood correctly.  
Justin sighed. _“I need someone to be an agent for me, and who better than you, Linz?”_  
“But…” she began, puzzled, “there are thousands of agents in New York,” she objected, genuinely surprised. “Why me?”  
_“I want to go home for a while”_ he said, surprising her again, _“I want to be with Brian and Gus, and if you were to take care of my study, my commitments, I'd feel comfortable,”_ he laughed nervously. _“I know it will seem strange, but it will be the first time I leave everything in the hands of someone else and I thought that…”_ he interrupted, evidently in difficulty.  
“Justin,” she called him affectionately, “is something wrong? Are you and Brian okay?”  
_“Yeah,”_ he replied without hesitation, _“we're fine.”_ He took a short break. _“I need to stay with him, Linz.”_ The dog barked again. _“I know it’s asking a lot, but I'd rather you take care of my job; I can not allow everything to stop here. I have exhibitions on the calendar and I know you could handle it like I would. I trust you as well as myself.”_  
Lindsay fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, reflecting. She chewed her lower lip and said, “Can you give me a few days to think about it? I can't guarantee you I can come to New York, I have a job here, too, and even if I could free myself, Mel and JR should agree. But maybe I could find someone for you.”  
_“Thanks, Linz. I really appreciate it. Take all the time you need,”_ he said, with what seemed to hurry too much to Lindsay, _“now I have to go. Say hello to Mel and kiss Jenny for me.”_  
Lindsay had not noticed that Melanie was back in the kitchen. When she looked up, her wife was staring at her from the door jamb, her arms crossed under her breasts. She smiled at her. “How's Jenny?” she asked, already imagining the answer.  
“Much better,” Mel replied, reaching her and placing her hands on her hips. “The fever has subsided and I am sure that, with no math task in sight, she will be good enough to go back to school,” she said gravely, and Lindsay laughed.  
“Did you know that...”  
“That she warmed thermometer on the lamp?” she asked, laughing with her, “no, but the length of the phone call with Gus last night should have given me some clues.”  
Lindsay leaned over to kiss her wife, “She made me promise not to tell you anything,” she confessed as she wrapped her thin arms around her neck and the kiss immediately became deeper. “I love you,” she whispered, returning to kiss her.  
“I love you too,” Mel replied, squeezing her hips.  
“What did Justin want?” she changed the subject when she separated herself from Lindsay to put the kettle on the stove and prepared the teacups.  
“Well…” Lindsay began, searching for the right words, “he would like me to be his agent.”  
Mel frowned, looked at her and headed for the table with teacups and tea strainers. “Does he want to exhibit in Canada?”  
“No.” she said, bringing the kettle to the table to fill the cups, even though the water was barely warm. "He asked me to go to New York.”  
“Excuse me?” Melanie asked in a coldly professional tone. That was why Lindsay was in a hurry to fill the cups; they spoke better with the aroma of tea to sweeten the environment.  
Lindsay put the kettle back on the stove and returned to the table with a bottle of maple syrup. “He said he wants to spend more time with Brian and does not trust leaving his work in the hands of a stranger.”  
“How long has he been living in New York?” Melanie asked, the honeyed voice with which she faced their children before imposing a particularly severe punishment on them.  
“Twelve years.”  
“That is the same amount of time we have lived in Toronto” considered her wife. “And in twelve years did he not find anyone to trust? It seems a bit strange to me.”  
Lindsay raised her arms. “Would you entrust our children to strangers? His paintings are like children for him.”  
“Gus is living with Brian, it seems to me”  
“He's his father!”  
“Only when it suits him, and never for more than a week-end a month.”  
“You've always been unfair to Brian.”  
“And you always justified him,” Mel said as Lindsay brought the cup to her lips. “In any case, as far as I understand the importance of his paintings for Justin, they are still paintings, they have no feelings, they will not miss him.”  
Lindsay looked at the amaranth surface of tea, “So you think I should say no?”  
Melanie reached out to tighten hers. “In my opinion, you should do what makes you happy. I remember when we lived in Pittsburgh, your eyes lit up when you thought of New York.”  
“But I was never up to New York. I never had Justin's talent.”  
“Maybe not, but you're a very popular gallerist. Wil was enthusiastic about the artists you showed at the LE Gallery for the International Art Fair.” Lindsay smiled, proud of her work. “I know what it would mean for you to work in New York.”  
“It would only be for a short time,” Lindsay reassured her.  
“I know this too,” Melanie said. “Jenny and I will manage.”  
Lindsay shook her head. “Wait a minute!” she stopped, “I have not yet accepted and above all it is not definite that Wil will give me time off.”  
“I'm sure he will.”  
“There's an exhibition to organize, museums to contact… it's easy for you to say, but I don't have two fresh graduate interns to train in my place!” she told her.  
"You have no idea how hard it is to teach to two novices!” Mel snorted with faked frown, and then smiled and stretched an arm to caress her face, pushing back a lock of blonde hair that had slipped on the forehead.  
“Mel,” Lindsay called to her, in a low voice.  
“What is it, baby?”  
Lindsay wanted to snuggle up with her wife on the couch, with their cups of tea in front of them and a blanket on their knees, watching the last episodes of _Grace and Frankie,_ but the sofa was full of magazines that they should throw out and on the table in front of the TV the basket full of laundry to iron was placed. “You never miss Pittsburgh?” she asked quietly.  
Melanie frowned. “I thought you liked being here.”  
Lindsay nodded. “I like it,” she confirmed, “but… in Pittsburgh there are our friends, our families…”  
“I didn't think you could miss my Aunt Rachel.”  
Lindsay laughed. “I've been thinking about it for a while,” she said, looking into her eyes. “When same-sex marriage was approved throughout the United States, I wanted to be there, I wanted to celebrate with our friends. I felt… proud of them, of how they held out for all these years.”  
“We came here because Gus and Jenny Rebecca were young and we did not want them to take risks, but now they've grown up. Gus lives in Pittsburgh….”  
Melanie listened to her and in the meantime fiddled with her fingers. “I understand what you feel, but I don't think things have changed that much. North Carolina, Indiana, Mississippi… behind the mask of religious conscientious objection, they still carry on their bigoted and homophobic policies.”  
“And that's why we should go home, to be able to contribute so that in our country there are no more differences. The kids are old enough to understand now,” Lindsay insisted, and Melanie squeezed her other hand, her frowning forehead and her frowning as a Jew and a lesbian lawyer, ready to kick everyone in the ass.  
“I have always loved your trust in tomorrow, the peace that you can give me even in the midst of the difficulties of life. Maybe you're right: we should go back to our country and fight for our community, and this could be a good time: JR is about to finish middle school and she and her friends will take different paths.”  
“Oh, Mel,” Lindsay smiled, “I do not want to force you and our daughter to do something you're not convinced of.”  
“No, it's okay… as long as you talk to her with me.” Melanie laughed and Lindsay followed her closely.  
“It does not scare me to start over at home,” Melanie continued, then, “if this makes you really happy, it's fine with me, but we still have to do things calmly: we can not go for it. We will need new jobs and a home.”  
Melanie was right, Lindsay knew it well, but it still had a few months left at school, so they would have plenty of time to get organized, box their lives and get JR to get used to the idea. Lindsay was sure her daughter would be happy to live near her father. She leaned over to kiss her wife again, grateful to have someone near her who loved her above everything.

* * *

When he opened the door of the diner, Brian was not ready to admit that he had waited for that moment since the morning, when, at breakfast, Gus had asked him if, after work, he could go and get him, because he was lending his scooter to Stella, so that the girl did not arrive late to the evening meeting of the support group.  
There were not many people in the restaurant at that hour, and the two kids were canoodling, leaning over the counter, between cups of coffee and dirty dishes of mayonnaise and ketchup. Brian approached, coming to loom over his son, before clearing his throat. “People are supposed to come here to eat, go somewhere else to make out!”  
The kids broke off instantly, Gus paled, and Stella blushed. “Dad… I… we…”  
Brian patted him gently with the newspaper he held under his arm. “Did you give Stella the helmet? And the keys?” he asked gruffly.  
“Yes.” Gus answered, glancing at his girlfriend.  
“Good. As for you, Miss,” continued Brian, “don’t race, stop at the traffic lights, and be careful.”  
“Yes, Mr. Kinney,” Stella answered, smiling tenderly.  
Brian grimaced disgustedly toward them. “Then let's go, before you make me get diabetes.” Brian turned on his heel and walked to the door, waiting for Gus to reach him. That was the moment he had waited and feared, he and his son in the car alone. Even though Gus had resumed talking to him, they had never had a real discussion, they had never really confronted each other since the night they had argued. They could have made the trip in silence or they could decide to talk, and since he was the adult, it was he who took the first step. He felt the need to smoke a cigarette to ease the tension.  
Gus got into the car and Brian started the car. There was only half an hour's drive between Pittsburgh and Britin and Brian spent the first ten minutes just looking for a topic to break the ice.

“School is going well? he finally asked, feeling like an idiot. He doubted that there was a more stupid way to approach him.  
“Yes.” Gus answered, without another word, and the silence returned to the car.  
“Dad,” the boy said after a few more minutes, catching his father by surprise, “thank you for what you're doing for Stella.”  
Brian snapped his tongue in his mouth, he knew he could not let the conversation die again. “I know you care about her.”  
“I love her.” Gus corrected, and Brian gave a sort of hiss, a disgruntled sigh.  
“Aren't you too young to fall in love? Fall in love seriously, I mean, like your mother and Melanie.”  
“Or like you and Justin?” the boy asked, tilting his head.  
“Did you take us for two lesbians?” he snapped and then smiled, despite everything.  
Even Gus smiled. “I'm just as old as Justin was when you got together.”  
“That's not true,” Brian denied, but Gus laughed.  
“He told me so, so don't lie!” his son shot him and Brian stretched his lips in a smile. He couldn’t deny it if Justin had already told him everything.  
“Okay, but we did not get together right away. We fucked together, that's all.” Brian looked at him sideways, from behind the dark lenses of sunglasses, to catch his expression; Gus seemed amused. He probably did not believe him. “Have you two had sex yet?” he asked then, far too directly.  
“Dad!” Gus said, as was to be expected. His ears had gone red and Brian grinned.  
“I just asked,” he shied away, pretending not to notice his embarrassment. “At your age there’s nothing weird about it.”  
“Dad, just drop it, please. I can't get into this thing with you.”  
“Why not?” he looked at him, raising an eyebrow, curious and amused. At seventeen, sex should have been his favorite subject. “I have some experience in this,” he assured him.  
Gus gave him a critical look. “I know,” he said unyieldingly, “but I don't think you can understand,”  
Brian frowned and was silent for a few moments. “What? That Stella is not comfortable with her body and for this reason she doesn't want to do it yet?” he asked, “Or is it that you want to wait for her?” He turned to look at him. “It is right that you respect her time,” he added, “but what about yours?”  
Gus looked at him as if surprised by the fact that his father could understand, then he got up. “Mine?” he asked as if he did not understand the question.  
“You're seventeen,” said Brian. “Basically, you're going to get hard for anything, and what do you do? Do you make get calluses on your hand, waiting for her to be ready?” He moistened his lips and looked back at him quickly. “This is the moment to get rid of the whims, Gus, not to commit oneself for a lifetime.”  
“Whim!?” Gus frowned, “I love Stella. I want Stella. I do not care about anything else!”  
“Do you want to spend your life with her?” Brian asked him back, “All right, but who says you'll still want it in ten or fifteen years? What would happen if you met someone capable of obsessing you, of not making you think of anything else? If you wanted that person so much to forget about Stella?”  
“It won’t happen,” Gus answered determinedly.  
“You don't know that,” Brian insisted. “you can’t know. Sooner or later you might want someone so much that you don't think of anything else but that person. You could resist and curiosity would devour you. You would wonder what flavor his lips have, how could it be to have sex with him, how… how his face would change while having sex with you and, in the end, you would hate yourself for that desire. Or you could give in and betray Stella…” he looked at Gus, his expression so similar to his own. “Or you could get in front of that person, having tried everything, aware that there would be nothing new, nothing you have not already tried, and as that person tempted you, you would return home aware of not having missed an opportunity. You would have no regrets, no unsatisfied curiosity.”  
Watching his son look away, Brian realized he had touched the right note.  
“Is that the way it is for you and Justin? Are you still together because you've tried everything?” Gus asked in a dark voice that made him look bigger.  
It was a thorny question to answer, and before doing so, Brian unwrapped a piece of chewing gum and put it in his mouth. He would have preferred a cigarette. “Yeah,” he said firmly, though he could only answer for himself, and not for Justin. “I fucked practically every fag twenty-five to fifty years to age in this city,” he grinned at the skeptical expression of Gus, “and not only here! he added. “And so did Justin. We fucked many of them together, looking at each other as we added another cock to the list. We did orgies, we drank and we drugged together…”  
Gus's eyes widened, and Brian ran his tongue over his lips. “Justin was your age, but I was a lot older and I already had a lot of experience…” Gus nodded, still looking at him as if he did not know him, and Brian thought maybe his son was really seeing him for the first time. It was not easy to tell the guy who had made a thousand recommendations that he had broken virtually every rule, but it was not as hard as he had thought. Brian had not regretted the things he had done, he had never been ashamed of it and had never even been bothered about how others thought of him, yet he cared about his son's judgment. “Justin had to do his own.” he concluded.  
“You wanted him to be sure he wanted you.”  
Brian did not know if Gus's comment was a question or a statement, but he smiled. “You should do yours too.”  
Gus shook his head resolutely. By now they had arrived home and Brian drove silently into the garage. When he turned off the engine, neither he nor Gus got out of the car, as if they both knew the conversation was not over. Brian looked at the white wall in front of him and then began to speak, “I was lucky to meet Justin, but I can not say that the same applies to him.”  
“But he always comes back to you, doesn’t he?” Gus interrupted. “That’s all that counts.”  
Brian nodded. Maybe Michael was right. He smiled and took the key off the dashboard.

“Open the drawer,” he said to his son, pointing to the small glove compartment in front of the passenger seat with his chin. Gus obeyed, peering inside. “Take them,” he told him.  
“What?” Gus said, and his ears turned red again.  
“Condoms,” Brian replied in an amused tone. “take them in your backpack or wallet, and use them.”  
Gus took the package of condoms and put it in his pocket, looking down and a bit embarrassed.  
“You could come to Babylon sometime.” Brian suggested.  
Gus looked up at him. “To fuck?” he asked skeptically.  
“To have fun,” Brian replied, letting him decide what it meant.  
Gus snorted, relieved. “Should I go to the disco with my father?”  
Brian chuckled, nodding. Perhaps his son was not entirely wrong. “You may find out that it is not bad to be the son of the chief,” he insisted, raising an eyebrow, as if he were alluding to something else, and Gus shook his head, smiling.  
“Promise me you'll think about it.” Brian asked him again, and when Gus nodded, he was satisfied. He motioned for him to get out of the car and gave him time to get in the house, before following him.


	14. Beyond appearances  [Lindsay; Stella]

**14**

  
**Beyond appearances**

[Lindsay; Stella]

 

It had taken two weeks to organize everything. Lindsay had found a substitute and promised Wil that she would use that period in New York to discover new emerging artists. She also had to find accommodations, no more than a studio apartment with a tiny bathroom, but the prices in the Big Apple were crazy.  
Justin had been evasive in explaining why he could not host her at home, and Lindsay had not wanted to investigate, she understood that her friend was hiding something from her, but she was sure that at the right time he would talk to her.  
When she arrived, he had presented the managers of the gallery in which they would be shown the paintings that she had to choose, and had planned for her a full agenda of appointments, not all of it would be work. There were social events and evenings in the gallery that he thought would please her. He had worked hard to reward her for the help she was giving him, and, in the end, when they said goodbye before he went to the airport, he had embraced her.  
Lindsay looked around, finally alone in the artist's studio. Light parquet flooring, large soundproof windows from which came the warm late spring sun, that in New York, already seemed a beginning of summer, and on the walls, some of the works that Justin considered most significant. At the center of the study, on a trestle table, stood the last of the large canvases he was still working on, and at the back of the large room, leaning against the wall, there were many other paintings of all sizes for which an adequate exhibition space had not been found.  
“Lindsay Peterson,” the woman said, “who would have thought that you would have arrived in New York at your age!” She nibbled at her lower lip, more enthusiastic than she would have thought possible.  
After a last glance at the great unfinished work that would await the return of its author, Lindsay decided to examine the paintings on the ground, one next to the other, separated by sheets of bubble wrap to prevent damage. She took them carefully, arranging them on the floor, to study them with an expert eye.  
There was something different in Justin's painting, a maturation, certainly greater awareness, even a sort of elegance that was missing in his scratchy initial works, there was a different serenity in the composition, and then the light. The light and the color had changed, as if Justin had left the darkness behind him, and it was curious that all this stood out above all in the smaller canvases, those that had been wrapped more carefully and buried under the others. She wanted to know what had caused that change. She was still wondering when the study door opened and Lindsay jumped up. She was sure she had locked up.  
“The study is closed,” she announced, going to meet the man who stopped as if he had not expected to find someone. He was a tall, distinguished young man of color, and Lindsay noticed that he was holding keys that were the same as those Justin had given her.  
“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice soft and deep, “I didn’t think you would already be at work.” He crossed the room securely and held out his hand. “Paul Carter. I hope I have not scared you.”  
Lindsay smiled, a little uncertain, before shaking his hand, he had a vigorous grip. “I was sure I had locked up and I feared it was…” he shrugged, “Lindsay Peterson. Don't worry, I didn't get scared,” she minimized.  
“The art expert friend,” he smiled, “Justin told me that you'll be taking care of the show and all the rest of it while he's in Pittsburgh.” Lindsay relaxed, understanding that the man must be a friend of Justin’s and smiled more spontaneously. “I'm sorry to bother you,” he continued, “I came to get something that Justin forgot.”  
“What?” she asked quickly, “Maybe I can help you.”  
Paul smiled openly, revealing his white teeth and pointed without hesitation to something in the corner of the room. Lindsay turned to look and saw only an old plaid blanket with bright colors, which could easily look like a pile of rags. “The blanket,” Paul explained, “when Justin is gone, Murple wants only that.”  
Lindsay approached the blanket with him, noticing the stains of color and the hairs of an animal. In some places it was nibbled and drooled on, but the man bent down to pick it up, carefully folding it over his arm. Some hairs came off, ending up on the ground, camouflaging with the color of the parquet. “It's probably soaked with the smell of paint,” she said then, seized with an intuition, “your dog must be very fond of Justin.”  
“It must be like that,” he agreed, his tone a little stiffer, as if he did not want to elaborate on the subject, and Lindsay wondered if she had said anything wrong, then hurried to change the subject.

“I was starting to look at the canvases,” she pointed to the back of the study, “do you want to have a look too? Some are… so different that I wondered what inspired them.”  
Paul glanced at the pictures on the floor and nodded. “What?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, and Lindsay returned to the paintings, kneeling on the ground to lift the ones that had struck her.  
“This, for example, the composition and use of colors recall Portocarrero, and the subjects are…”  
“The streets of Harlem,” Paul interrupted, smiling warmly again. “I remember when he painted it, we had been at the Levy Gallery and Justin was very impressed by a painting by a… Cuban painter, I think he was. He said it was Harlem's colors, that he could almost hear the music on the street. He drew all night.”  
“Portocarrero was a Cuban painter,” Lindsay confirmed. “He began painting as a self-taught man at fourteen and was among the first to support the importance of painting workshops in high-security prisons,” she explained enthusiastically.  
“Justin's right about you.” Paul said, watching her.  
Lindsay frowned. “About what?”  
“You're not just prepared, you really love your job, you love art. Believe me, you notice your passion in your voice.”  
Lindsay would have blushed if she had been a little younger. “Are you an artist too, Mr. Carter?”  
“No,” he said, rising from the floor, immediately followed by her. “Just a lawyer.”  
“My wife is a lawyer too.” Lindsay said, and was hardly surprised when Paul answered, “I know, and you have two children, Gus and Jenny Rebecca. Justin has often told me about you.”  
“And why has he never talked about you?” she asked without thinking, looking at him heartily. As expected, Paul Carter looked away and stretched his lips in a smile of circumstance.  
“It was nice to meet you, Ms. Peterson, but now I have to go,” he raised his arm on which the cover of the dog he had called Murple had been folded, and added, “She doesn't like being home alone.”  
“Sure, I understand,” Lindsay said. “It was a pleasure to meet you too.” Paul Carter turned his back and walked to the door. “Leave it, I'll lock up.” she said, as he reached into his pocket to get the key. The man nodded to her with his head and left the study.  
Lindsay reached the door in a few quick steps and closed it, looking for the back of the man among those of passers-by who walked along the lively street of the Village. “Oh, Justin,” she murmured, leaning her forehead against the glass of the door.

* * *

Emmett had arrived early to meet with his friends, had barely said hello and had holed up at the usual table, waiting for the others. Stella was wandered by him several times while she served or cleared the other tables, but he had not even glanced at her, keeping his eyes glued to a magazine that he kept leafing through. In the end, Stella had decided to bring him a couple of appetizers, just to pass the time. He had thanked her, but he did not even bite an olive. Stella had shared a worried glance with Kiki, but she shook her head and continued to work.  
The situation had not improved when Michael had arrived. Emmett had greeted him with a melodramatic sigh and Mr. Novotny had looked at him in a daze. A few moments later the door had reopened to let out some customers and had remained open long enough for Brian and Ted to enter. Mr. Kinney had turned to look at one of the boys who had just walked out and pointed him out to his accountant.  
“If I was a few years younger I'd fuck him,” he said, grinning.  
“You'd need to be at least fifteen years younger,” Ted chuckled, waving to Stella with a wave of his hand and taking a fist on the shoulder from a frowning Brian. Stella tried to identify, through the window, who had attracted the attention of Gus's father, but could not.  
When he arrived at the table of Michael and Emmett, after a quick glance at his friends, Brian began with a “Who died?” which oozed a hint of malevolent irony. He sat next to Michael and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I hope not you,” he told him as Ted sat next to Emmett.  
Stella went to the table to take orders, but also curious to find out what had happened, certain that whatever it was, Mr. Kinney would find a solution. At that moment, Emmett pushed the magazine he had been looking through to the center of the table, staring at Brian with a murderous look. The magazine was open on a glossy page with a large color photograph of Emmett's companion, Drew Boyd. Stella had seen the former quarterback once or twice at the diner, but she could have sworn that photo was at least five or six years old.  
Even if the page was turned to Brian and Michael, she managed to read the title of the article that asked in large letters- “Coach gay: are our children safe?”.  
“This… this _Dude What's-his-name!_ How dare he call himself a journalist!?” Emmett had a vibrant tone from which she could sense his fury, and Stella instinctively approached Brian. “Insinuating that Drew is a danger to the junior football team just because he's gay!”  
Brian took the paper, giggling, “What did you expect after his brilliant idea of accepting the proposal to train a team of pimply kids?” he asked rightly.  
“So, for you, there is no problem if an honest man, a sportsman who has always behaved correctly, _your friend,_ is pointed out as a possible child molester!” Emmett challenged him, staring at him with growing anger, and Brian shrugged.  
“They don't want us in the Boy Scouts, why should it be different for a football or baseball team?” Brian answered as if it were logical, “I'm rather surprised that you did not expect it,” he added, leafing through the paper.  
“You knew it!” Emmett snapped confidently. “You knew it and you didn’t tell me anything!”  
Brian shrugged and showed the page he had stopped where the advertising of a toothpaste stood out. “My campaign for White Dental,” he smiled, satisfied, “I received the magazine as a preview,” he confirmed.  
“You should have told me!” Emmett snapped, disgusted.  
“If I had told you, what could you have done? Prevented the magazine from coming out? Convinced the editor to replace the article?” he shook his head, “It's just a gossip magazine. In a few days no one will remember what was written.”  
“Of course! Everything is normal for you!” Emmett wailed again.  
“I simply don’t worry about what doesn’t overwhelm me,” Brian admitted, leaving the magazine on the table, while Stella sat next to him, pushing him a little closer to Michael, and grabbed the paper to read the article of discord.  
“Right, Marilyn! Who cares if it overwhelms your friends!” Emmett said angrily, while Ted tried to calm him and Michael looked surprised at the girl.  
“You should call a lawyer,” she said, in a low voice, talking more to herself than to others. She had not noticed that four pairs of eyes stared at her in silence.  
“Did we miss something?” Ted asked, with a half smile on his kind face, passing his eyes from the girl to Brian.  
“What?” she asked, looking up. She did not expect to be the center of attention. She looked at Emmett and Ted, feeling herself blushing and then he looked at Brian, muttering, “I just thought that maybe there are grounds for a defamation complaint.”  
“We don’t need a lawyer,” he began softly, and then ended up barking, “We need a waitress to take our orders.” He pinched her elbow, looking at her severely and pushed her away from the bench.  
Stella snapped to her feet, masking the warmth she felt rising up to her cheeks, looking at him as he began to write up his order and Ted chuckled, making her blush even more.  
“But I'd rather call a lawyer,” Emmett said, giving her a small, grateful smile. “Too bad Mel’s not here, she would know what to do.”  
“I should call her tonight,” Michael said, conciliatory as usual, “I can ask her for advice.”  
“Would you do it?” Emmett asked, smiling again, and Michael reassured him, “Of course.”  
Brian looked up at the ceiling. “Will I ever get rid of those lesbians!?” he snorted, “They're in Canada! Aren't there lawyers here in Pittsburgh?”

Michael gave him an affectionate fist on his shoulder and smiled at him and Stella strained to stretch her lips in turn. She finished taking the orders and delivered them to the kitchen, rubbing her elbow as if the pinch still hurt. She stood with her back turned to the room so no one would noticed that her eyes were wet, and she was breathing deeply, trying to compose herself, even if her heart was swollen. She told herself that she was only in pain for Emmett, because of the hormones, and that Mr. Kinney had nothing to do with it, but she knew it was not so.


	15. Evergreen  [Justin; Brian]

**15**

**Evergreen**

 

[Justin;  Brian ] 

 

  


“You should have told me, Daph, I would have taken a taxi.” Justin looked again at his best friend who was moving between the stove and the peninsula that divided the kitchen from the living room after picking him up at the airport. He was impressed by the size of Daphne as well as by the agility with which she had fastened the seat belt on her son, who stared at the airplanes on the tarmac with wide eyes, and then slipped between the steering wheel and the seat of the car.

“Stop it or I could hurt myself!” she laughed, placing a hand on her prominent stomach.

“You should feel how much it’s kicking! I can't wait for it to be over”

Justin could not help smiling. “How much longer?” he asked, taking the teacups and the sugar bowl to bring them to the dining room, while Daphne finished slicing a banana.

“Four weeks, but I hope she'll be born sooner,” she replied, pouring the cornflakes over the banana into a large bowl. “In any case, Adam will be back in fifteen days, so as not to risk leaving me alone again when my water breaks and I start swearing like a trooper,” she joked, relaxed.

Justin wrinkled his nose and took a sip of tea while Daphne called her son for a snack, and looked around in the house full of light and scented with lavender.

Perhaps this was the way places with young parents and young children were- light furniture, large windows and a swing in the garden. As he sat on the sofa, Justin bruised himself on a red brick, which he recovered and placed on the low coffee table in the living room, a color point on a white background that only miraculously hadn't been stained with crayons or felt-tip pens. Malcolm ran into the kitchen with a pot-bellied airplane clutched in his hands stained with color, imitating the sound of a car, as the roar of the planes was not yet familiar enough, and Daphne made him sit in a chair, pouring the warm milk in the bowl. “With any luck, he'll be sleepy after the snack,” she explained to Justin, as the child devoured large spoonfuls of milk and cereal with fruit. She probably noticed his gaze and smiled at him as she fingered the black curls of Malcolm, who, with a greasy hand, picked up the toy.

Justin leaned against the sofa; he was the godfather of the child, but he had not seen him much since he had come into the world five years ago. He had been an overprotective and jealous best friend when Daphne had introduced Adam to him only after the man had asked her to marry him, but after six years of marriage and the second child on the way, Justin had to admit that Daphne seemed happy.

“Are you never planning on having a child?” she asked, catching him by surprise.

“What?” Justin Laughed, “With Brian?” It was so absurd as to be ridiculous.

“With Paul,” she replied, helping Malcolm get out of his chair and immediately sending him to wash his hands. The corridor filled with the unlikely rumbling of flying cars.

Justin settled on the sofa, a little uncomfortable. “No.” he answered.

“Why not?”

It was a simple question, but Justin did not know what to say, only shook his head. “I never thought of it”

“You and Molly do nothing but work. Your mother would be a wonderful grandma, you know. It's a pity that none of you are going to start a family” Daphne wrinkled her nose and Justin laughed. “Some days I don’t know what I would do if Jennifer could not help me with Malcolm”

“My mother helps you with Malcolm?” Justin asked, surprised, just before the child ran back into the living room, throwing himself on his mother. Daphne grabbed him in time to avoid a head against her belly and the boy laughed and curled up in his chair, wedged between his mother and the armrest.

“Yes” Daphne said, as if it were obvious. “She never told you? She keeps him when I'm on duty and Adam is not here, and sometimes even goes to the nursery school, if I have to stay in the hospital”

Justin stared at her in amazement. “I had no idea,” he said, and Daphne looked down and pouted as she always did when she had something to say to him. “Daphne?” he urged her, but she got up, putting the baby on his feet too.

“I'm putting the natural calamity in bed, give me ten minutes,” she told him, pushing her recalcitrant son forward. Malcolm grumbled that he did not want to go to bed and Daphne promised him that she would read him a fairytale, if he was good. Justin turned to look at them until they were out of the room.

He could not wait to be home, waiting for Brian. He crouched on the sofa, imagining the surprise of his man, finding him there a few days in advance…

“Sorry,” Daphne said, coming back into the living room. “He made me promise to show you his drawings before you leave,” she said, sitting in front of him, and Justin smiled.

“I'll be happy to see them,” he assured.

Daphne's expression, however, became more serious. She took her own cup of iced tea and hesitated for a moment, before asking, “How long has it been since you’ve spoken to your mother?”

“I visit her every time I come to Pittsburgh,” he replied, frowning, “and I speak to her at least once a week.”

“Mh mh,” Daphne muttered, “so you really came home for Brian…”

Justin blinked in disbelief. “Daphne,” he said to her, seriously, “you're making me worry! What's up?”

She shrugged, tilting her head slightly. “Nothing, it's just that I thought that wanting to spend more time with Brian was just an excuse. In short, Justin, you and Paul clearly have a type of relationship that you will never have with Brian, so I do not understand why you insist on…”

“Daphne!” Justin interrupted, moving forward on the couch. “My mother!”

Daphne smoothed an imaginary crease on the floral fabric of the wide maternity dress, her dark eyes fixed on a floor tile that seemed to suddenly become interesting. “She and Tuck are breaking up.”

“What?” Justin shouted, eyes widening and almost angry with rage. “What did he do? Has he cheated on her?” he asked after the first moment of disbelief. “I have told her…”

“Justin!” Daphne interrupted him, in the stern tone with which she would scold her son.

  


“Tucker has not cheated your mother and is desperate not to lose her!”

“How?” he asked, not understanding.

“Your mother no longer wants to be with him,” she replied, evidently afflicted.

Justin looked at her as if he could not believe her, looking for a few moments for something to say, but finally he shook his head. “It's not possible,” he said, “my mother loves Tucker, if she wants to leave him, something must have happened, he must have done something to her!”

Daphne took a deep breath, changing position on the chair to be more comfortable. “It's because she loves him that she wants to leave him,” she explained, and Justin looked at her as if her words made no sense. “Your mother…” she snorted, “well, she starts feeling old and thinks Tucker should be with a younger woman, have a family…”

Justin almost laughed. “You're kidding, aren't you?” he asked. “My mother is still a beautiful woman and Tuck has always known how old she is. So, what has changed?”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Jennifer went into menopause,” she was clearer, “even if they never thought about having children, they could have had them first. Now your mother is terrified of the idea that he can meet a younger woman, who may want children, and loves him so much that she is ready to give up on him, to leave him free to make another life.”

“But he doesn’t want children, he wants her!” Justin snapped, still shocked by his friend's revelations.

“We both told her that,” Daphne said, shot down, “but how can she believe it when even her son betrays the man he says he loves with a younger one?” she asked reproachfully.

  


“When will you stop having it both ways, Justin?” she pressed. “I know you well enough to know you really love Brian, so why do you stay with Paul?”

Justin opened his mouth to answer her, but closed it. He would have liked to give her many of the answers he had given himself in those years; that with Paul he could have a family, a solid and uncomplicated relationship, while with Brian it was always vague and indefinite, every day there was another man with whom to compete; that Paul accepted him even when he did not do his best, when he was tired of fighting, while for Brian nothing was ever enough, Brian never allowed him to give up, to throw in the towel, but he didn’t say anything, because Daphne knew enough to know already everything.

  


*

  


Brian made a last attempt to start the engine. The key turned in the ignition and the corvette remained motionless and silent. He pursed his lips and looked at the customers coming out of the Babylon, someone alone, others in pairs or with friends. A little at a time, the parking lot was emptying and soon the employees would come out, lock the doors of the club and go home.

It had been years since he had remained until the club was closed; even if he no longer had to comply with Justin's curfew, it had become a habit to go home early enough to sleep a sufficient number of hours before going to the office. Perhaps it was only the last trick of the advancing age.

A couple of boys greeted each other at the edge of the light of one of the street lamps that illuminated the parking lot and one of them stepped toward him. When he was closer, the boy slowed and Brian recognized the bartender. Even that evening they had gone away for a few minutes, and Brian had tightened his blond hair between his fingers, without thinking, abandoning himself to the need for momentary and yet indispensable fulfillment.

The boy approached the corvette and Brian lowered the window. “Is there any problem, Mr. Kinney?” he asked, leaning forward.

“The car won't start,” he replied, in the monotonous tone that sounded odd to his own ears.

The boy looked around, the parking lot was almost empty, there were only a few cars that Brian could not identify. “Are you waiting for someone?” he asked, and when Brian shook his head, he straightened up. “Open the hood, I'll take a look,” he said.

“Do you know about cars?” Brian asked him skeptically as he pulled the release lever, but he had already moved in front of the car and was lifting the hood.

“Start it,” he told him, and Brian did. He did not get any results. The bartender closed the hood and returned beside him. “I don't think it's anything serious, but without tools I can't do anything,” he said, “if you want, I'll take you home and tomorrow morning I'll come here with the necessary tools.”

“No, I…” Brian frowned, “do you really know what to do?”

The boy smiled and nodded. “I worked in the shop with my father,” he said. “If you don’t want to wait for tomorrow, I'll go home now and get what I need and come back.’

“Would you mind?” he asked hopefully, and the other nodded. He took a couple of steps away and stopped, coming back. “Come, I'm not leaving you alone here.”

Brian raised an eyebrow, a bit puzzled, a little amused by the other's care, but got out of the car and followed him to a small car with a scratched body. He sat in the passenger seat and waited in silence for the other to start.

“We'll be at my house in about twenty minutes,” the bartender informed him. “My mother lives above the shop, so we'll have to be quiet.”

Brian nodded. “And your father?” he asked, looking at the darker road as they entered the outskirts.

“He died a few years ago, just before I came to work at Babylon.”

“But you still have the workshop,” Brian said.

The boy was silent for a few moments. “There are not as many cars like yours. Modern cars have everything centralized, they need computerized control systems that are not in my father's workshop. He didn't believe in newfangled gadgets, he was such a wrenches and work suits guy, always stained with motor oil, and so, little by little, he ended up losing almost all his customers. Modernizing and restoring the activity cost too much, so my mother and I decided to close.” Brian seemed to sense a kind of regret in his words, but did not investigate further. When the car stopped, he was not sure where they were; lighting was poor and the buildings looked like old sheds, the square houses looked like the popular houses of the last steel moment.

The boy put the car in park and turned it off. “Let's be quiet,” he said as he got out of the car.

The building in front of which they had stopped looked like a cube on which they had dropped a roof, it had an external staircase that went upstairs, while the lower one was closed by a large overhead door, like an old garage. Brian nodded and followed the bartender, peering around in the darkness, badly lit by too distant street lamps, waiting for him to get the light and enter. Old equipment and the smell of dust, stale oil and spare parts left to rust on forgotten shelves, everything seemed to have been suspended in time, stopped on the last day the mechanic had worked. “I don't remember your name,” Brian told him, not looking at him.

“Aidan,” the barman replied. He knew how to get around in his father's workshop; he checked the inside of a suitcase full of tools and stuffed dirty gloves into it, chose pieces that Brian could not identify and placed himself in front of him. “We can go,” he told him. Brian only nodded after a last glance at the unnaturally quiet environment that electric light made surreal.

Back in the car, Brian took a deep breath, to free himself from the smell of the workshop, old and forgotten things, narrowed his eyes and smelled the smell of Aidan. The car smell about him, and Brian felt a rush of desire emerge. He leaned his head against the headrest and tried to concentrate on the road, but when they arrived at Babylon's parking lot, he realized he was dozing off.

Only his car was left. Aidan went to work without wasting time and Brian stood looking at him bent over the exposed engine, the jeans that stretched across his buttocks and the Babylon shirt that left uncovered a portion of his back. A halogen lamp hanging from the hood allowed him to see what he was doing; he had agile, strong fingers that moved with confidence, changing small pieces soiled with oil.

He looked away, feeling the need to break the silence. “Maybe I should change it,” he said.

“You're joking, right? They do not make cars like this anymore!” Aidan contradicted him, without looking up. “What year is it? 1970?” he asked.

“'71,” Brian corrected him.

Aidan nodded. “The big-block engines were built between 1970 and 1974. They were the most powerful ever made; 425 hp, the most powerful sports car of that era! Not to mention the manual transmission! Today everyone wants the automatic transmission, because nobody knows how to drive these now, but this… this is a car for those who know how to drive!”

Brian felt something vibrating in his chest in response to Aidan's enthusiasm. “It's just an old car,” he minimized, expecting him to contradict him.

“It's a classic,” he said. “It never gets old!” he said, looking him straight in the eye and Brian, for a moment, hoped he was not just talking about the car. By now his excitement was pressing painfully against the zipper of his trousers. “Try to start the engine,” Aidan said, and Brian shook himself, sat in the driver's seat, left the door open, and turned the key. The engine roared with the power of its 425 horses.

“It works,” he said, and Aidan closed the hood, smiling, and put away the tools. “How much do I owe you?” he asked Brian, dismounting again.

“Nothing.” Aiden said, closing the trunk of his car and coming back to him.

Brian raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get far if you don't charge for your work, not to mention the fact that it's a dark night.”

Aidan shrugged. “I'll sleep until noon, I'm happy to help you, Mr. Kinney.”

Brian pushed him against his car and pressed his lips against his. He had never kissed him before, even those lips, that tongue had worshiped his cock for dozens of times. He wrapped his arms around his hips and Aidan's hands clung to his shoulders as they usually clung to his hips as he stood before him, on his knees, on the floor of his office. Brian deepened the kiss and heard the boy moan, pushing his pelvis against his. He kissed him again, voracious, grabbing a buttock, and rubbed his crotch with his own. Aidan answered as if he knew every rule of that game, hugged and kissed him with passion, as if he had not wanted anything else for the whole evening, and Brian wanted him, he wanted to be young, strong and desired, but he still separated from him, feeling terribly guilty.

  


“Sorry,” he said breathlessly with his taste on his tongue, “I shouldn't have.”

Aidan's eyes hurt his heart, his breath was still too close and Brian pulled away before giving up again. “We'd better go home now,” he said impatiently, avoiding looking at him.

“Yes, sir,” Aidan replied, the bitter tone of someone who had just touched a dream. “Sir,” he called again as Brian climbed into the car, “you should have it checked in a workshop tomorrow, to be safe.”

“I will, thank you.” Brian said as he closed the door and left the parking lot. The road between Pittsburgh and Britin had never seemed so long and so dark. The night was silent and nobody was there, and Brian accelerated; the black ribbon of asphalt in front of him looked like a tunnel where there was nothing, like his life, like his big house where no one expected him. Brian pressed his foot again on the accelerator, the shadows outside the windows became indistinct spots, to which he paid no attention, his eyes glued to the road, even if he did not see it at all, while wondering what was wrong with him.

He was becoming pathetic, old, and lonely. Nobody would have noticed if he had not returned home, there was no one to miss him. A dull pain gripped his chest, his heart ached and he thought absently that perhaps he would have a heart attack, but that it did not matter. He accelerated again because the only important thing was to get to Britin. What happened after did not count. The next thing was Gus who would find him... at that hour Gus was definitely sleeping and Brian took his foot off the accelerator, realizing that his son was waiting for him.

He took a deep breath and drove to the house, fighting against the knot that gripped his throat, making his breath painful, and he went quietly so as not to wake his son, even though he had seen the light from the windows in the living room, the curtains drawn to hide who was in there. He opened the door slowly and paused, seeing Justin, his eyes red and the phone in his hand, rising from the couch.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a whisper.

Justin threw himself into his arms, “Brian…” he cried, holding him, the worry still evident on his face.

Brian raised his face and kissed him, starting to breathe again. “It doesn’t matter,” he said a moment later, his lips still against his, “you'll tell me tomorrow.” He needed him right away. He kissed him again, with passion and frenzy, starting to undress him before reaching the stairs, needing to feel his skin under his hands, but Justin held him, dragging him upstairs, stumbling on the steps, kissing him and biting him and held him in turn.

They collapsed on the bed, twisted, Brian's anxiety had given new life to his excitement, and he nearly dropped the entire drawer of the bedside table when he threw it open to get a condom. Justin continued to kiss his neck, to bite his collarbone, urging him to hurry up, but Brian stopped, his breath short and hot, and looked at him to memorize every detail of his face, the way his eyes looked at him, his lips were full and soft, and he passed to him the condom.

“Do you want me to put it to you?” Justin swallowed, taking it from his fingers.

“I want you to wear it,” Brian said, stepping over him and lying on the bed, his face hidden in the pillow. He did not want Justin to see his face when he hurt him. He waited, feeling his companion move on the mattress and then stiffened at the sudden cold of the lubricant. Justin wanted to do things right, he did not want to hurt him, and Brian relaxed, knowing he would take care of him. He took a deep breath, felt him enter, winked and let Justin chase away his demons, as he slowly fucked him, enjoying every thrust.

Justin took his time, he would make sure Brian enjoyed it like no one else had ever done.


	16. Crossing Babylon [Gus; Brian]

**16**

#  Crossing Babylon

 

**** [ ** ** G ** ** us ** ** ; Brian ** ** ] ** **

 

  


There was a strange silence in the house when Gus went down for breakfast, there was no buzzing of the citrus squeezer or buzz of the television. He wondered if his father had returned, if he and Justin were still asleep. When he entered the kitchen, however, he found them both in front, clinging to each other as if they were about to do it there, on the breakfast bar.

He cleared his throat and, imitating his father, blurted out, “This is supposed to be the kitchen, go somewhere else to make out!”

Justin winced and broke away from Brian and turned to look at him. Brian's lips ended up on his cheekbone and Gus saw more than he would want as his father's tongue slipped into Justin's ear.

“Nice try, son,” Brian granted him, before returning to kiss his companion.

Gus shook his head and went around his theoretically mature fathers, to prepare breakfast.

  


“Yesterday Justin was worried to death, what had happened to you?” he asked, turning his back on them, trying to be an adult.

“The car didn't want to start,” Brian replied as he reassembled himself and Justin clutched at his tie.

Gus turned to look at him with a mocking smirk on his lips. “Did you have to take a cab?”

“No, one of my employees made a fortune repair.”

Gus laughed as Justin nibbled at his father's chin with a look of adoration. “You should scrap it! How old is it?”

“It's the same age I am, and it's a classic!” he replied puffed up, looking down at him, “They don’t make cars like that anymore.”

“Maybe so, but it hung you out to dry,” Gus continued, laughing.

“It's a vintage car,” Justin said, “You should leave it in the garage and get it out just for special occasions. You could use mine,” he continued, “just to keep it from aging without ever using it.”

Brian inclined his head to kiss him again. “No. But I'll call you around mid-morning to pick me up, so you'll get it out of the garage. I need to go to the office to do a couple of things, then I'll leave the 'vette at the mechanics. I'll take the afternoon off,” he kissed his nose and Justin purred.

“I can’t wait!” Justin snuggled, and Brian smiled as Gus had not seen him do for days.

“Prepare your little ass, Sunshine!” Brian laughed, pinching Justin’s butt, and Gus pretended to look away, embarrassed, but it was nice to see his father so happy.

“Let me know when I have to pick you up,” Justin said.

  


Then his father came up to him, ruffling his hair. “See you later, son.”

Gus snorted, faintly annoyed, and then laughed, while Brian went out, leaving him alone with Justin. “If Daddy doesn’t want to use your car, I can do it, just to keep it from rusting in the garage,” he tried to be sneaky, but it didn’t work. The man smiled at him and sat down in front of him. “I never saw Dad in such a good mood,” he confided.

“Orgasms have always been good for him,” Justin replied, without ceremony, and Gus nearly choked on the cereal.

  


“And how are you? Has cohabitation improved?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Gus smiled, “I would say yes.”

“And with Stella?” Justin asked.

Gus shook his head. “Not to be believed!” he replied, “Stella adores him! Dad persuaded her to go back to school, and he defended her from homophobic teachers,” he said enthusiastically. “She's so attached to him that sometimes I wonder if I should be jealous!”

Justin looked at him with a surprised expression, but finally he laughed. “And…,” he added a moment later, “regarding Babylon…”

“He's usually not that late, even if he goes there often,” Gus interrupted.

Justin nodded. “But he never brought someone home? Yeah, you know… does he see someone or… something like that?” Justin hesitated, looking uncomfortable in asking him that question, and Gus found it odd.

“No one,” he replied dumbfounded, “Daddy loves you, even if he's not announcing it around.”

Justin opened in one of his sunny smiles and looked away. “I know, leave it alone,” he tried not to give importance to those last jokes, but Gus insisted.

“He seriously loves you,” he told him with disarming simplicity, “the other day he told me about when you got together.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “What?” he asked, and Gus laughed.

*

A few hours later, as he entered the diner, untying his school uniform tie, Gus was still in a good mood. It was getting hot, and he regretted not being able to go to school dressed as he liked, but the end of the school year was approaching, he would not have to last much longer.

When he entered, he immediately noticed that Stella had not yet arrived and that one of Babylon's go-go boys was handing out flyers for one of the usual theme nights that punctuated the Liberty Avenue calendar. Gus gave him a long look of appreciation as the boy, well-trained and oiled, approached the exit, handing him a flyer.

“Not to him,” said a voice, and the go-go boy turned to a black-haired boy who smiled at him confidently.

“Why not me?” Gus asked, still taking the flyer.

The boy turned around on the stool, facing him, and looked him up and down. “You're not one for Babylon.”

“Really?” Gus asked him, “And what kind am I?”

“One from St James,” the stranger replied.

“Too easy!” Recriminated Gus, “I've been to Babylon,” he said, looking him straight in the eye. They were almost black and had long dark lashes.

“And how is it that I didn't see you?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Gus felt a shiver down his back and approached that boy who could not have been more than four or five years older than him. A slight hint of aftershave pinched his nose. Perhaps he had approached too close, but he continued to hold his gaze. “Maybe you were busy,” he told him.

“Then the next time I'll have to get rid of him,” he replied promptly, reaching out to stroke his chest. Gus felt a sudden turgidity on the lower floors and for a moment held his breath.

“Keep your paws off, you!” Kiki intervened, saving him from an embarrassing situation. “Gus is already taken,” The woman shot him an incinerator glance and hit the boy's hand with a rag.

“A pity,” he said, winking at him before getting up and heading for the register. He was taller than Gus, with broad shoulders and long legs and a perfect butt wrapped in tight jeans. Gus had to admit that he was definitely hot. “If you get rid of him, you know where to find me!” he said, turning to look at him.

“At Babylon?” Gus asked, already sensing the answer. His palate was dry and he wondered if he was really flirting.

“Is there any place else in this city?” the stranger asked ironically. “Ask for Dylan if you don't see me.”

At that moment, the diner's door opened again and Stella walked in, out of breath. “Sorry I'm late, Kiki!” she greeted, pulling her backpack off her shoulders and reaching Gus halfway down the room. She kissed him on his lips just as the boy left the diner.

Kiki gave another warning look to Gus, but did not say anything, and he took Stella by the hips, holding her back. “Do you think my grandmother would mind if I came to dinner with you tonight?” he asked.

A smile appeared on Stella's lips. “Are you kidding me?” she asked enthusiastically. “But let's call her first, it's not nice to show up for dinner without warning.”

“So she will cook for an army!” Gus grumbled and Stella laughed. She was beautiful when she laughed. “Besides, I want to be with you,” he said, brushing her lips. Stella bit her lower lip, taking a step away from him.

Gus couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if Stella had not started hormone therapy; if she had been a man. Perhaps she would be like the boy who had just come on to him.

  


* * *

  


Justin stretched, satisfied and fulfilled, and Brian hugged him, stroking him with his hands open, as if he wanted to take him all, hold him, caress him all. They had fucked and slept and then they had fucked again, all afternoon, and by now dinner time had passed, but neither of them wanted to go down for something to eat.

  


The air in the room was saturated with the smell of sex, of them, and that was the best aphrodisiac for Brian.

  


The sheets had ended up in a tangled pile after Brian had tried to wrap them around Justin to keep him still while he was doing unspeakable things that had made him scream as he came like a virgin at the first fuck. It had been nice. Brian had needed it more than he had imagined. The tension had melted and he finally felt at peace.

Gus had called a couple of hours earlier, telling his father that he would stop for dinner at Debbie's and that he would probably be late. He had praised him for the excellent idea of being out of the way, and had told his beautiful and exhausted partner that they could continue to fuck without having to worry about the return of his son.

Justin had received the news by giving him a spectacular blowjob and then he had curled up on him, his legs rubbing against his as he kissed his neck and nibbled him as if he had not had enough. They had exchanged exciting effusions and had given up their energies and Brian would have liked not having to get up until the next day, even if the sheet beneath them was disgustingly dirty with sperm and soaked in sweat, but he could not. “I have to go,” he said to Justin, loosening the embrace in which he held him.

“Where?” the man asked, frowning.

“Babylon,” Brian replied. He got up and went to the bathroom door.

“Babylon?” Justin repeated, sitting down. “Do you have to see someone?”

His voice showed so much nervousness that Brian, having opened the shower, went back to his room to look at him. “You should know that I don't make appointments.”

*

He did not need to make an appointment to see Aidan; he worked there and Brian knew that he would have to just snap his fingers to make him kneel between his legs. He watched him for long minutes while mixing cocktails and serving customers, always smiling, but it was a different smile from the night before. His blonde hair colored by lights that sparkled on the track, but his eyes only lit up when he looked up and saw Brian staring at him. He wondered when it happened and what he did to get that boy's adoration.

Brian watched him a little longer, telling himself that he had made the right decision, though he would miss it once Justin had left, then gestured and he nodded. He preceded him in the office where his ears found a momentary relief from the last hits of the season and sat on the desk. When Aidan joined him, Brian stood up.

“I took the car to the workshop this morning” he told him as soon as Aidan closed the door.

  


“The owner is an acquaintance of mine and has taken care of the 'vette since I bought it, a long time ago. He said you did a great job.”

Aidan smiled. “Thanks.”

“No. Thank you.” Brian replied, slipping a hand into his pocket for take a business card with a hand-written number on the back. “I told him about you and he said that if you want a job as a mechanic, he would be happy to hire someone who can work… on classic cars.”

Aidan's eyes widened, stammering “But… but… I… Mr. Kinney…”

“It's a good opportunity,” Brian told him, “you can do what you really like, instead of spending the nights serving alcohol to a bunch of hot, half-naked guys.” He grinned. “After tonight if you come to Babylon it will be just for dancing.” He handed him the note and added, “Call this number and tell him that I sent you.”

The barman swallowed and looked at him with watery eyes. “Are you firing me, Mr. Kinney?”

Brian stroked his cheekbone with a finger. “I'm giving you a chance,” he replied, slipping the note into his hand.

“What if I can't do it?”

“You will do it!” he encouraged, “You will do it, and if you really miss the music too loud and the amphetamines that the guys pass off the books, you can always come back here, but you have to try, do you understand? You must try it!”

Aidan bowed his head and nodded, he didn’t want Brian to see him with his eyes full of tears. When he looked up again, his eyes were bright but dry and he leaned toward him. Brian, however, pulled his head back. It had been a mistake to kiss him the night before. It would not happen again.

“Last time, Mr. Kinney?” he asked then, but Brian shook his head.

“No, _Aidan,”_ he replied, putting a note of affection in pronouncing his name. That night he was satiated with Justin and would not mix his smell with someone else's, not even with that of the boy whom he'd been substituting him with for months, pretending it did not matter, imagining it was him. “Go back to work now. It's your last day.”

The barman looked at him for a long moment, his blue eyes full of unexpressed feelings. Brian felt he wanted to say something to him, and prayed he would not do it. “Yes, sir,” he finally answered, slowly turning his back to him and heading for the door.

“Oh, Aidan,” Brian called him back, fearing to meet his eyes again, “Tomorrow, call Mr. Schmidt. I told him to prepare the documents and… even to pay you the full month.”

“It's not necessary, sir.”

Brian raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Don't argue with your boss's orders!” he resumed, and Aidan just smiled, nodding.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Kinney,” he told him, before leaving, leaving Brian to wonder what he had really thanked him for.


	17. All the chickens coming home to roost    [Paul; Brian]

**17**

**All the chickens coming home to roost**

**** [ ** ** Paul;  ** ** Brian] ** **

 

 

  


The flight had arrived in Pittsburgh on time. Before leaving he had rented a car and booked a room at the Well Court Inn. If the directions were correct, it was about halfway between the international airport and the city center and, by accident, even on the highway that led to the home of Brian Kinney.

  


But that was not his goal. Mentally aware of where the hotel was located, Paul drove to Liberty Avenue. He had heard so much about it, from Justin, that he seemed to know it.He parked not far from Kinnetik, where he managed to find free parking, and headed for the former sauna. He had to admit that it was not for everyone to turn a sauna into his own agency.

“Good morning,” he stopped at the desk behind which a young employee answered the phone. “I have to see Mr. Kinney.”

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked in a nasal voice.

“No,” he admitted, wondering if he would have been better to call before going there.

“Then I'm sorry, but you must first call this number and make an appointment.” The secretary handed him a business card with the company logo.

“Thank you,” he said politely, taking the phone and dialing the number immediately. The woman started to protest, but Paul took a couple of steps away. A female voice answered halfway through the second ring. “ _Brian Kinney's office, how may I help you?”_ she asked, self-confident.

“Paul Carter. I have to meet with Mr. Kinney.”

“ _I can arrange an appointment,”_ she replied positively.

“No,” said Paul shortly. “I'm in the lobby. I would like to see him now, if it is possible.”

The voice on the other side of the phone did not hesitate for a moment. “ _Give me a moment please…”_ she said kindly, “ _I have to verify that he has…”_

“Please, just tell Mr. Kinney that Paul Carter is here and he wants to meet with him,” he interrupted.

“ _Hang on, please.”_ A low buzz took the place of the voice, and Paul smiled reassuringly at the secretary who continued to look at him from behind the glass and steel desk, perplexed. The entrance was not as big as it seemed, but the light floor and ceiling spotlights made it airy. Next to the doors were large kenzia vases with shiny leaves that were the only color point in the hall. Paul looked around wondering where was the surveillance that, of course, could not miss, but did not see guards in uniform.

He waited a few minutes, maybe less, and the woman's voice came back to him, “ _Come in, Mr. Carter. Mr. Kinney is waiting for you.”_

“Thank you.” Paul hung up. The next moment and the intercom at the reception table rang. The secretary answered with a single “yes” and hung up, smiling at him.

“That way, Mr. Carter,” she pointed to the door on the right, giving him a polite smile, and Paul walked over without hesitation.

Paul looked at the work environment he was entering; Kinnetik was a well-established company and, although appearances could be deceiving, it was the budgets that confirmed it. He had done some research on the proprietor, long ago, when he and Justin had gotten together. He wondered what was so special that this Kinney had to bring Justin back into his orbit whenever that, for one reason or another, it seemed like their relationship had reached its natural epilogue. He was an attractive, successful man, he was certainly rich, but… Paul did not like him. It had been said that perhaps he was biased, he had tried to understand, but he had to surrender to the evidence that he would never understand what tied Justin to that man so indissolubly.

A woman met him with a sunny smile on her bright red lips. “Mr. Carter?” she asked, already knowing the answer, “I'm Cynthia, the chief secretary.” It was the voice he had heard on the phone. Paul nodded and she went on, “This way. Mr. Kinney will see you right away.”

  


The contrast between the rough structure of the building and the hyper modern, light and aseptic decoration was strange but suggestive. Paul was not surprised when the secretary opened a glass door, decorated with the logo and the company name and announced him to the owner. He entered and Brian Kinney stood up, fitting his jacket, a smile set on his face and his eyes as cold as the environment around him.

  


Justin said that Kinney was not a great communicator, but that he knew how to get the message across loud and clear, and Paul understood at that moment the sense of that apparent contradiction. That office said with elegant aggression “I have control.” The feeling must have been more or less the same as those who suddenly found themselves reflected in the inexpressive dark eyes of a white shark, behind the thin glass of an aquarium.

“Thanks, Cynthia,” the owner dismissed her, waiting for the woman to close the door after giving a new smile to the newcomer. “To what do I owe this visit, Mr. Carter?” Brian asked, his tone polite but formal.

Paul moved closer. Neither of them held out his hand. “We have to talk about Justin, Mr. Kinney,” he told him without any pleasantries, carefully observing the man who stood before him, elegant, well-groomed, the fresh trace of glasses on his nose, but there was no trace on his desk. He was probably too vain to admit to using reading glasses.

“Justin knows you're in Pittsburgh?” Brian asked.

“No,” he answered. “Not yet, at least. I'll call him after talking to you.”

Brian motioned for him to sit down and Paul took a seat in front of him. “I have to talk to Justin about an issue that can not wait, but I do not want it to look like an invasion of your… _territory?”_ he said in a firm voice, “Besides, I think it's time for both you and I to take note of fact that Justin will never make a choice, if we do not oblige him to do so.”

“What makes you believe I want Justin to make a decision, Mr. Carter?”

“He's not a ping-pong ball that we can bounce back forever. You like to win, Mr. Kinney, and so do I.”

“And this gives us the right to decide for him?” Brian asked, leaning back against the chair. “If it were a race, I'd give you the right, but it's not, and Justin is not a prize to show off.”

“Isn’t that what you did when you pushed him to go to New York?” Paul insisted, “Having a successful painter as partner does not flatter your ego more than he would have done as an anonymous artist from Pittsburgh?”

Brian straightened up, leaning towards him. “You think you know me, don’t you, Paul? I can call you Paul, right?” he took a pen from his desk and began to press the shutter button at regular intervals.

“No.” he replied without accepting the provocation, “I only know what Justin told me,” he added, knowing he was about to hit a raw nerve. He caught a glimpse of uncertainty in Brian's eyes, or perhaps of anger, but he did not show it. He had no satisfaction in hurting that man. “Let's just say that it does not bother you to know that for Justin I'm not the adventure of a night and that every time he comes back to New York, comes back to me, to our house…” Paul saw that shadow on his face of Kinney, but that time it lasted more than an instant. The man stopped pressing the pen button and Paul wondered if he had not known they were living together. Was it possible that Justin had not told him?

A new ‘click’ restored Brian's apparent control, his expression had returned inscrutable, and Paul resumed talking, “We both love him and for this, although we're not enthusiastic, we have tolerated this situation, but things change. I can no longer afford to tolerate your presence in the life of my partner.”

Brian frowned at him, spreading his arms. “And so? Did you come to kill me, Paul?” he asked provocatively.

“I'm here to force Justin to make a choice, otherwise I'll choose.”

Brian laughed. “Do you think you can ‘force’ something on Justin?” he gave him a surprised look, but there was a host of hostility that did not escape him. “What has changed?” he asked.

Paul intertwined his fingers and sat back more comfortably on the chair, flaunting the security that had enabled him to make a quick career, until then. “The circumstances,” he said, “Justin always said he wanted a family, a stable relationship, a quiet life. All of the things I offered him, but… he does not want them from me, Mr. Kinney.”

“If you are willing to give him what he wants, to make him happy, I will disappear from Justin's life, otherwise I will do everything in my power to take him away from you”

“I'm not that kind of man, Paul, and Justin knows that. For me, he can have what he wants with you,” Brian replied in a tone so impersonal that Paul did not know what to think. Despite that his work had placed him before so many different individuals, Kinney remained a difficult subject.

“So you love him, but not enough to give him what he wants.” he concluded.

“And you? If Justin will not make the choice you want, Paul, what will you do? What _circumstances_ have changed?” the other urged him.

Paul took a deep breath before answering. “My role requires me to maintain a certain image. I can't allow them to know that my partner has a lover; my position would become vulnerable.”

“So…” he asked thoughtfully, “you're ready to sacrifice Justin to your career. What would be different from me?”

Paul shook his head. “Not just for my career, Mr. Kinney, for Justin.”

Brian raised his head and nodded vehemently. “I see,” he said, “you think you know what's best for him, though, maybe, Justin is happy in this way.”

“Are there any happy artists? Is it not the constant torment that makes men great?” he asked, and in spite of himself he found himself smiling.

“You should get into politics, Paul,” Kinney tossed and immediately frowned. “Or have you already done it? That's why, right? This is the changed condition.”

Kinney was a shrewd man, he had to give it to him. “I'm African-American and a gay prosecutor, Mr. Kinney,” Paul said patiently. “I'm already in politics.”

“The Congress? The midterm elections of 2018?” Brian asked, changing his expression. Now he seemed interested, Paul noticed that he looked at him differently.

“More realistically, 2020.”

“You'll need supporters, someone to run your campaign,” Brian said.

“Are you proposing?” Paul asked, skeptical.

“On the contrary,” Brian smiled, “I would support your opponent.”

“Even if this meant supporting a Republican?”

Brian opened his arms as if to say ‘what can you do?’ And smiled at him mockingly.

  


“Usually, I don’t care who wins or who loses; in the end they are all the same, but this time I could have a personal interest.”

Paul smiled, he could not say he was surprised. “Yes, Justin told me something about your contribution to politics.” He stood up. “I think that's all, Mr. Kinney. I'll ask Justin to meet me this afternoon.”

“Where are you staying?” Brian asked, “In case I need to talk to you again,” he hurried to explain.

“At the Well Court Inn.”

Brian laughed. “Next time, let me suggest a better hotel.”

“It has a parking lot and that's the only thing that interests me. I want to be able to move independently, Mr. Kinney. The rest is of little importance, I won't stay long.”

“It will be too long anyway.”

Again, Paul did not pick up the provocation. He quickly bowed his head in greeting and left the office of the president of Kinnetik.

  


* * *

  


Brian had not been able to sleep much the night before. He had told Justin that he was tired and had given him his back. Obviously his partner… if he still had the right to consider him as such; Paul Carter seemed certain that the title belonged to him. Justin had worried, he had tried to find out what was wrong, but Brian had asked him how he had spent the day, and he had lied to him, he had not told him he had met Paul.

As he ran his fingers through his hair, Brian still thought that the night before they were still wet, but the shower in their bathroom was dry; he must have washed himself in that bleak hotel, in Carter's bedroom. They must have fucked… and then Justin had come back to him as if nothing had happened, but he couldn't be upset; Justin was behaving like he had taught him to do. He continued to imagine the hands of that man on him, on his clear skin, a few miles from his office, from their home. Carter was an attractive man, he had admitted that eight years ago when he had caught him in Justin's bed, and he was ambitious. Brian would never despise an ambitious man.

He liked how Justin wore his hair lately, not too long, but not short, perfect to cover the scar on his temple. Brian looked for it with his fingertips, a slight depression where the skull had been pierced, the thickening of the skin where the surgeon had sewn… did Paul know where that sight was? Did he know how to find it with his eyes closed, stroking his head?

“Brian…” Justin's voice, kneaded with sleep, tore him from his thoughts. “What time is it? How are you?”

“It's early,” Brian replied, leaning forward to kiss him. He squeezed him and felt Justin stiffen in his embrace.

“What is it, Brian?” Justin asked again. His tone was worried, his hands sought his face and Brian kissed them. Justin pressed his fingers to his lips and Brian licked and sucked them allusively, until an excited sigh of Justin told him it was time to stop if he did not want to lose control.

“Sleep a little longer. Later today we go out.”

“Sleep!?” Justin snapped, “Brian, you're making me worry so much! Tell me what’s wrong!”

“Nothing, Justin. There's nothing,” he assured him, wrapping him in a hug. Justin squeezed him, clung to him as Gus did when he was a child and Brian began to stroke his head.

He had not wanted to tell Justin where they would go, but after leaving the corvette in the reserved parking lot, it became clear that their destination was Kinnetik.

“I can't believe we're going to your office on a Sunday!” Justin protested, walking by his side. Brian did not answer him. He took the keys and opened it. There was an unnatural silence in the building, the printers were off, the conference room empty, nobody going back and forth from the project area, the light filtered milky from the big glass windows and when Brian switched on the corridor lighting, the desks of the employees, with their terminals turned off, assumed a ghostly air. Brian stepped past his secretary's desk without paying any attention, reached his office and checked the time.

“What did we come here for?” Justin asked, sitting on the sofa behind the glass-fronted table with some magazines on top. It had been a long time since they had sex there.

“We’re waiting for someone,” he replied, pouring himself a drink.

Justin looked at him grimly. “Who?” he asked. “Isn’t it too early for that, Brian?” he added after he had taken the first sip of Jim Beam.

Brian wanted to tell him that, on the contrary, it was late, that he had wanted to end that situation for a long time, but the office door opened, Paul Carter came in, and the look on Justin's face was priceless.

“What...?” Justin jumped up. “Brian?” he looked at him with his blue eyes, then turned to the other man. “Paul?”

Brian tried to catch a different nuance in the way Justin spoke their names, but he did not hear it. “We don't need any introduction,” he began with a convincing smile. “Mr. Carter… Paul, and I have already met and…”

“What does that mean?” Justin asked, the wary expression and a note of jealousy in the voice that made Brian smile.

“Kinney called me last night,” Paul began.

“After you were asleep,” Brian specified, and Justin looked at them suspiciously, perhaps trying to figure out if there was anything between them.

“We have to talk, Justin,” Paul continued. “It can’t go on like this and you know it too,”

Justin covered his face with his hands for a few moments, then moved away from the couch. “I... I know, right?” he admitted with a badly concealed anger. “I messed up, but…”

“Justin,” Paul called softly, and Justin was silent. Brian had to admit that he had a beautiful voice, that kind of voice that makes you immediately hard when he whispers in your ear. After all, Justin always had good taste in men. “I never hid from you my disapproval of the situation you put all three of us in,” he continued quietly, “but it's not a good reason to be melodramatic now.”

  


“Sure! After all, you just want me to choose between you two!” Justin snapped, “You involved Brian!” he accused him as if that was the most serious part of the matter.

“We want you to be happy, Justin,” Paul said again, “but you can not have both. Not anymore.”

“My ass,” Brian interjected, attracting their looks on himself. “I'm always available for a threesome,” he sneered.

“It's not the time, Brian!” Justin scolded him, while Paul was showing his disappointment by shaking his head.

“On the other hand, I believe it is precisely the moment,” he contradicted him. “I'm fed up with this story, Justin, about you coming and going, assuming I'm waiting for you. I want you to get out of the way. Go back to New York with Paul, marry him and live your life!”

“What?” Justin swirled, looking at him with wide eyes.

“You understood very well,” Brian replied, seriously. “the time has come to grow up and make the only possible choice; you have a man near you who loves you and wants to marry you. You have the opportunity to realize your dreams and to throw the past behind you. If what you need is my blessing, Justin, you have it.” Brian forced himself to go all the way because Justin's wet eyes were breaking his heart. He heard Paul's voice in the background saying, “Mr. Kinney, it's not necessary…” but the only thing he really heard was Justin's broken voice begging him.

“Brian…” Justin groaned, and Brian smiled as if he really did not care.

“We could celebrate, all three of us together; I'm sure that Justin is hard just at the thought of being able to…”

“Stop it, asshole!”Justin cried.

“... take it from both of us,” Brian continued, his voice flattening as his face turned into a wax mask. “I bet he fantasized a lot of times about who he would like to have in the ass while he sucks on the other's cock. Come on, Justin, tell us how you want it…”

“It's you that I want! I've always just wanted you, Brian!” Justin cried. He was trembling with rage as he looked at him, his fists clenched and his eyes wet. Brian reached him in a few strides and surrounded his flushed face with his hands.

“It must always go the way you want it, right, Justin?” he asked growling, unable to remain as calm as Paul though he tried to swallow the feelings that were trying to overflow. “It doesn’t matter that others suffer, that they sacrifice themselves for you…”

“It's not like that,” Justin contradicted him. “I didn't want to hurt anyone.”

“No, of course not, Sunshine,” Brian admitted, clenching his fingers on his face and bending to look him straight in the eye, their noses almost touching, Justin's hot breath that hit his face. “You only thought about your happiness, what was best for you, but it does not work like that for everyone, Justin. It may be good for you and me, but this man you fucked and lived with for the last few years, that you have deluded, he doesn't see you for the little ungrateful selfish brat that you are.

“So listen to me! Are you listening?” he lowered his voice, “He's ready to do anything for you, to make you happy, so then, do what you do best; take this opportunity and take advantage of it! Live the fucking life you've always dreamed of and be happy!”

Justin sobbed like a child and Brian barely registered the door closing with a discreet noise. Paul had gone as if he had not wanted to disturb them, and Justin's trembling lips glued to Brian’s. They tasted like salt, and Brian pushed his tongue into his mouth, kissing him with arrogance.

“I'm sorry,” Justin whimpered, trying to catch his breath, “I'm sorry, Brian.”

“I'm not the one who needs to hear it,” Brian snarled, pushing him down on the couch and pressing him down with his body, starting to kiss him again, tugging at his clothes until Justin was naked under him.

“You'll have to find a new apartment,” Brian said imperatively as he opened his trousers.

“I will,” Justin said.

“And you'll have to give me the address because I'll come see you,” he added, beginning to rub his erection, and Justin let out a pleasurable groan.

“Please…” Justin begged, and Brian postponed the rest of the speech. It had been too long since they had fucked in the office.


	18. The future has distant roots   [Gus; Stella]

**18**

#  The future has distant roots

 

**[Gus; Stella]**

 

 

For Gus, until that moment, it had been a fruitful day; that morning he had sent the application for admission to the university. He had taken it easy and was late, not to mention that he had only presented one, betting everything on the CMU, but since it was the university where his parents had graduated, he hoped they would have nothing to complain about that he hadn’t tried other schools. He did not want to leave Stella alone, and if he had not been admitted, he would have found a job to help her and he would try again the following year. His father would have kicked his ass and his mothers would have been very angry, but he did not care.

In fact there was only one thing that mattered to him at the time, there was less than a month left at the end of the school, and at St James was abuzz with excitement for the prom. That afternoon, as he watered Molly's plants on Justin's behalf, he wasted time imagining the face that Stella would make when he invited her, the dress she would wear, and the smile that would light her face as he held her in his arms during the dance.

It was a good diversion since he was not interested in plants at all, but, a couple of weeks ago, a rather embarrassed Justin told him that he and his father needed some time alone and gave him the loft keys. After catching them going at it in the living room, Gus had taken them and left without comment. He had discovered that the loft was close enough to the diner, and this gave him the chance to spend more time with Stella than usual.

When Justin had returned to New York a few days earlier, Gus had promised to continue to take care of the plants in his place, until Molly had returned from her business trip, and had continued spending more time on Liberty Avenue than at home. That evening, however, his father had gone to fetch his mother at the airport and he was advised not to be late.

Before leaving, Gus had kissed Stella and laughed at her nervousness at the prospect of meeting "Ms. Peterson". He wished he had time to make a bit of fun of her, but he could not wait to hug his mother again and did not want to annoy his father, who, once Justin had left, had come back as grumpy as usual.

When he arrived home, his father's laughter greeted him unexpectedly, immediately followed by his mother's lilting laugh. Gus ran into the kitchen and rushed into Lindsay's soft arms before he could say hello. For a few moments the only sound in the room was the mumbling of boiling water in the pot in which the pasta was cooked, while Gus breathed in her familiar scent, his face stuck between her shoulder and neck and held her tight.

“Hi, honey,” Lindsay whispered, when Gus finally released her. His eyes were wet and she gave him a huge smile. “I missed you so much!” she said, holding back his tears.

“I missed you too,” Gus answered.

 

If his father had not taken him by the collar of his t-shirt, pulling it back, he probably would have embraced her again.

“Don't be a lesbian,” he said in an amused tone, making Lindsay laugh again, “and go wash your hands,” he added, perfectly imitating his best friend.

Gus frowned, looking at them, but he decided to obey. When he returned to the kitchen, the table was set, dinner was ready, and his parents were busy talking, as every time Brian went to visit them in Toronto. If Melanie had been there, fuming, and jealous of her wife's relationship with ‘his asshole father’, for Gus it would have really felt like home.

“Dad's telling me that we're invited to Debbie’s tomorrow,” Lindsay told him, putting the steaming plate in front of him, “so, at last, I'll meet the famous Stella.”

Gus smiled happily and embarrassed, but nodded and took the opportunity to ask for her help, “I want to invite her to the prom,” he said, “I thought… that you could help her find the right dress.”

Lindsay's eyes widened, opening her mouth in an exclamation that did not leave her throat; she looked furtively at Brian and tried not to show her enthusiasm. “Sure, honey,” she replied, “when is the prom?”

“In three weeks,” he replied without noticing anything. “I'll need a suitable suit too. I'm counting on you, Dad.” he said, turning to his father, but Brian's expression was closed and distant. “Dad?” he called again.

“I think I will leave this task to your mother,” Brian replied in a cold tone after a moment.

“But you always say that…”

“I know what I say!” Brian cut him short, “Eat, before it gets cold.”

Gus started to protest, surprised by the sudden change of mood of his father, but his mother caught his eye and shook her head seriously, inviting him to eat. Gus obeyed, but his frowning expression told her that he had not understood what was happening.

Perhaps that was why Lindsay cleared her voice theatrically. “I have to tell you something,” she began in a clear attempt to restore the serene atmosphere from before, “and I can’t wait until tomorrow!” When Brian and Gus's eyes were on her, she smiled openly at the two most important men in her life and said, “Mel and I are thinking of moving back to Pittsburgh.”

“Mom Mel and JR are coming here? When?” Gus asked, euphoric.

Lindsay laughed at Brian's grimace and patted his hand. “As soon as we find a home and a job,” she explained.

“Why don't you come and stay here?” Gus asked, ignoring his father altogether.

“Because your father and Mel will only argue from morning till night,” Lindsay replied, as if it were obvious.

“But there's a lot of space! And Dad works all day…”

“Son,” Brian interrupted, piqued, “when I'm dead you can have my belongings as you like, as long as Justin has not bankrupted me to the pavement before then, but for the moment this is still my home.”

“Why should Justin ruin you?” Lindsay asked, amused.

Brian made an incredulous expression before replying to her in an affectionate manner. “He's an artist! He has refined and very expensive tastes!” Lindsay refrained from laughing and Brian glared at her before continuing. “Looks like he found a decent apartment in New York, but he didn't want to tell me how much the rent will cost me.”

“You are paying his rent? I thought Justin didn't want you provide for him again,” Lindsay said.

Brian shrugged. “I've accumulated a lot of free miles by traveling to Toronto and it would be a pity to waste them, so, since I'll be going to New York often, it seems fair to me to contribute to the expenses,” he shrugged.

Lindsay smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. They exchanged a knowing look that left Gus puzzled, but his tranquility did not last long.

 

“By the way, son,” his father said, “your mother and I were wondering if you had finally made a decision regarding college.”

Gus felt the salivation reset to zero. “Yes, I…” he muttered, “I sent a letter of application to Carnegie Mellon.”

Brian motioned him to continue, while Lindsay asked him, “Only one?”

“Come on, Gus,” Brian said. “We are waiting. Mel is convinced that you will enroll in Law school, but… I have bet with your mother for Economics!”

“It's enough they admit you, for me, considering everything you've done this year!” Lindsay said practically.

Gus looked at his parents staring at him expectantly and cleared his throat. “Well I… I would have opted for… Social Sciences,” he said, chewing his last words. He knew his father would take it badly, but when Brian opened his mouth, he discovered how much.

“Social Sciences!?” Brian said incredulously. He moved the plate and intertwined his fingers in front of him, and Gus realized he would not let it go. “I understand that your grades are barely above average, but it's not a good reason to choose to be a lifetime unemployed!”

“Brian…” Lindsay said, but Brian didn't listen.

 

“But where's your head, Gus!?” he snapped, pushing back the chair with a shrill noise, “With a course in Economics and Marketing you would have a guaranteed future, you could work with me!”

“But I don't understand anything about publicity and then…” Gus tried, but Brian interrupted him with a single finger.

“I'll teach you the tricks of the trade!” his father continued, “You're my heir. Holy Christ! Is it so complicated to take a little interest in the company you'll inherit anyway?”

“Brian, calm down, please!” Lindsay said.

“Don't tell me to calm down, Linz!” Brian barked and his forefinger began to pound solidly on the table, emphasizing his words. “It's time for Gus to get a grip and think about the future! What do you think you're going to do with a degree in Social Sciences!?”

“Social Sciences has many courses in common with the study of Economics,” Lindsay reminded him, “and he would be masochistic to come and work with you,” she said bluntly, blocking his response in the bud. “At the slightest mistake you would make a scene that would make him lose any enthusiasm, not to mention the confidence in his abilities. You know how you are, Brian!”

Brian snorted and stuck his tongue out at her, and Gus thanked the heavens for his mother being able to keep his father at bay, as even Justin could do.

 

* * *

 

By the middle of the day, the lids of the garbage cans in the back of the diner were already hot, the sun reflected on the reflective symbols and the smell of the garbage had become stronger. Stella threw in the last black sack of the kitchen trash and when she closed the lid she saw Mr. Kinney watching her, squinting his eyes a little at the sun.

“Good morning,” she greeted him in a good mood, reaching him.

“Do you have five minutes?” he asked, skipping pleasantries. He looked too serious and Stella nodded, moving just enough to get in the shade.

“Did something happen?” she asked, a little nervous. She was warm and would gladly to go back inside, but Mr. Kinney did not seem willing to come in even though he was more dressed than her and the knot of his tie seemed damn tight.

“Gus wants to invite you to the school ball,” he said, “I suppose he'll tell you one of these days. He asked his mother to help you choose the dress.”

Stella looked at him amazed. Her eyes lit up and she held back from hugging him. “Does he want to invite me!?” she asked instead, as if she did not really believe it. She would have shouted for joy, even though Gus's father had just ruined her surprise, and that was what kept her from exulting and raised her doubt. “Why are you telling me?” she asked, sensing from the man's expression that she would not like the answer.

When Mr. Kinney put his hands on his hips, opening his gray jacket over his light shirt and clenching his lips between his teeth, her intuition became almost a certainty, and the man's hesitation made her stomach tighten with anxiety. “I want you to refuse him,” he decided to tell her, and Stella sensed the world turning around too fast.

“What?” she asked in a whisper.

“I want you to refuse,” repeated Brian, “to be honest, I would like you to leave him, but I can not force you. However, since you owe me, I ask you to refuse Gus's invitation. Justify yourself as you want, I don't care, as long as you don't go there.”

“Why?” she asked suddenly. “At least tell me why!, I thought…”

“What?” Brian interrupted abruptly. “That I liked you? Yeah. I hope my son will meet someone like you when he is older.”

“But not me,” she concluded with trembling lips, beginning to understand. Her eyes began to pinch, and she almost felt she could not breathe. In her anguish, Mr. Kinney's voice increased, “Listen to me, Stella, you're a smart girl, and if it's fate for you and Gus to be together…” he sighed, “than no matter what I say, you two will find each other again, but… then you'll be a girl.”

“I am a girl!” she replied, wounded but determined. But she could not hold back the tears and two black trails of mascara lined her cheeks.

“You know what I mean,” Brian replied in a more condescending tone. “You have a long and difficult path ahead of you, but it is your path. Gus must make his life, he can not continue to base his decisions on your function.”

“I never asked anything of him!” she snapped, knowing already that it was useless to reply.

Mr. Kinney, in fact, shook his head. “You don’t need to ask him. He met you and fell in love with you when you were a boy, and he supported the choices of the boy he loved, even if it meant losing him and having another person in his place. I respect him for this, but I don’t want him to regret it one day. Become that person you are all the way, and then, if it’s destiny…” he opened his arms in a gesture of surrender, “I will not put any obstacle to your bond, but… give him the time that you need too, Stella.”

Stella tightened her lips, she did not want to cry, but she couldn’t help it. Her shoulders were shaking with silent sobs and her short nails biting the fabric of her apron almost to pierce it. She felt betrayed by the man she had grown fond of as if he were her father, she felt lonely and frightened, like she had not even been when she left home.

“At St James he has made some friends,” continued Brian, “how do you think they would react if they found out he was with you? At best they would mock him and marginalize him.”

“Why are you telling me these things?” Stella sobbed and saw Brian hesitate. The man ran his tongue over his lips and looked away.

“I don't want anything bad to happen to my son,” he replied after a few moments.

Stella did not know what Brian was talking about, she wanted to hit him and scream at him not to get between her and the boy she loved. “If I tell Gus what you came to tell me…” she hissed in a rage, ready to challenge him.

“You would put him against his father,” Brian agreed. “Is that what you want for him? That he leaves his family, like you did?”

Stella closed her eyes that were flooded with tears and shook her head. Of course not. She did not want Gus to feel like her, to lose his father like her. “Do you also want me to leave?” she found the strength to ask him.

Brian shrugged. “This is a decision that is up to you, but Debbie would miss you if you left and we also have a deal and I intend to keep my side, so I expect you to keep yours.”

“The school.”

“School,” confirmed Brian. For a moment he fell silent, looking at her, and Stella felt so uncomfortable that she held her arms around her torso and looked away. Her tears were closing her throat, she needed to blow her nose and her head began to hurt. “My request concerns only the prom,” Brian said to her. “Don't go with him to that damn dance.”

“What if I wanted to go there?” she sobbed, unable to hold herself back. Raising her eyes, she was surprised to read on the face of Mr. Kinney the shadow of an unexpressed pain, like an old wound that had come back to ache.

Brian ran his tongue over his lips, then tightened them between them, before answering her. “I won’t be in town, so you could do it and I could not stop you,” he said bitterly, taking a clean handkerchief from his pocket and passing it to her.

It was a gesture he had already done and Stella frowned, looking suspiciously at the white fabric folded in his hand, but then took it. She blew her nose and dabbed the tears that kept coming down. The mascara stained of black the cotton, and she sobbed again. That was Gus's father, she reminded herself, not hers. It was obvious that he put his son first. Part of her understood his reasons and was also a little jealous of the way Mr. Kinney wanted to protect his son. She would have been happy for Gus if it had not been that he was protecting him from her.

“You can't miss your son's prom,” she said in an uncertain voice, trying to contain her sobs.

“His mother is enough for these things,” he answered. “I’m taking Justin to Palm Springs for a few days. It's been a long time since we've been on a vacation together.”

“And you can't go after the prom!?” she insisted, imagining how Gus would feel, but Brian gave her a hostile look that caught her breath in her throat.

“It does not concern you, little girl!” The man cut short, turning away from her and moving away, leaving Stella alone with her own pain.


	19. Stars in heaven and on earth   [Brian; Gus]

# 19  
Stars in heaven and on earth

  


**** [ ** ** Brian ** ** ; Gus] ** **

 

 

The shadow of the Sao Jacinto Mountains was stretching out over the city as the ceiling fan's propeller kept spinning lazily, waving the clear curtains to the window that overlooked the hotel pool. The noise of the bathers increased after the splash of every dive, the music resembled a soporific lullaby played by the desert sand that was scratching the streets of the city. The two Mexican boys who they had met the night before in a trendy club had been away for hours, and they had conceded themselves the last round, making the temperature rise further in their bed, before yielding to 104° in the shade.

A fresh hand stroked his chest, and Brian moistened his lips. He was thirsty, but he did not want to get up, even though the bed was soaked in sweat. The body next to him moved, rising, and Justin's tongue began to lick him diligently, taking the sweat off him and replacing it with a trace of saliva. He fiddled with his left nipple, making it swell, and went up to the breastbone, around his neck, kissing him lazily. “You're all sweaty,” Justin said, his voice darkened with desire. “We could take a shower,” he suggested, starting to walk back the way he had done so far.

Brian smiled, keeping his eyes closed, until Justin's tongue slipped into his navel.

“Do you want me to fuck you in the shower?” he asked, satisfied. Justin did not answer, slipping a little lower. He felt him breathing deeply, inhaling the pungent odor of his crotch, and he spread his legs enough to him slip in between.

“I would say that I'm still good for an old man with only one ball,” he said when he felt his partner's lips close on his once again hard cock. Justin took the suggestion and moved further down, took the testicle he had left in his mouth and licked hard, causing a moan.

“You're not old,” Justin contradicted him when he lay down next to him. “Do you want to go see other houses today?” he inquired, then licking his lips. Brian shook his head and Justin stretched. “Good, because I can't believe you want to buy a house in Palm Springs.”

“Why not?” Brian asked, turning on his side and hugging him. Finally he opened his eyes. They were both exhausted their faces were red from the sun, but Justin's was so much more than his own; he should have worn sunscreen, but he had not thought about it. He had picked him up at the airport, as usual, and had dragged him to the new gate without even telling him where they were going. He had prepared two suitcases, but in Justin’s there wasn’t much since most of his things were in New York, which is why he had promised to buy him everything he needed.

“Because you'll never be there,” Justin snorted, bringing a hand through his hair and sticking his chest to his. He kissed him with desire, one of those kisses that preceded sex, and Brian was glad he had brought a good supply of condoms.

“Thanks for taking me to the Art Museum,” he added, licking his lips, and Brian almost laughed.

“I thought we would never get out of that fucking museum!” he teased and Justin bit his lower lip. Brian could smell his excitement and stretched a hand between his legs, stroking him vigorously.

“Shower!” Justin mewed, pushing against his palm and stretching his neck to bite his chin, convincing him to get up.

“We can not go out stinking like two sewer rats,” Brian agreed, tugging him to get him up. He pushed him into the shower, turning the jet of icy water on his heated skin.

“It's cold!” Justin screamed, but Brian stepped right behind him and wrapped his arms around him, holding him to his chest as he adjusted the temperature.

“I'm warming you up.” he replied with a sneered smile, and before Justin gave him his back, resting his hands on the glass of the stall, he saw the most mischievous expression on his face.

  


The sunset had inflamed the peaks of the Sao Jacinto and the street lamps along the streets of Palm Springs were lit by illumination from below the palm fronds, shaken by the warm desert air. The colored neon disappeared behind the stream of people who animated the streets, entering and leaving the premises that regurgitated music and laughter. The pools glimmered with the faint blue-green luminescence of the tiles on the bottom, waiting for the evening parties to begin; there had to be some special event that day, after all, Brian had heard that there were almost every week.

“Where do you want to go?” Justin asked, raising his voice a little to make himself heard.

“Nowhere,” Brian replied, putting an arm around his shoulders to squeeze him to his side.

“What?” Justin asked, “It's incredible! It's like being in Babylon out here!” he complained, pressing himself closer to him.

“Look around, Sunshine, maybe you’ll recognize someone famous,” Brian said, grinning.

“And then?” Justin asked, perplexed.

“And then, if we like him, we'll fuck him,” he replied, as if it were obvious.

Justin rolled his eyes. “How did I not think about it myself!?” he joked.

“As if you don't like it!” Brian said. It was the last night they would spend in the city, the next day they would go home. He could no longer postpone.

“You know I like it,” Justin said, “but I’d rather fuck you.”

Brian bent to kiss his hair as they continued along the busy street. “I think we do it quite often,” he pointed out. They had fucked like a newly married couple since they were there.

“You know what I mean,” Justin grumbled resignedly.

Brian knew that, but he also knew how it would end. They had already tried, after all, and they knew it would never work. “Listen to me, Justin” he said, “there will always be other men. They will fill in the gaps, but that does not mean they will count for anything. I will not be faithful to you and will never pretend that you are; we will not become like those heteros who don't know how to live alone, who support each other and then betray and accuse each other. We will continue to do what we want, to fuck with whom we want, and to stay together because we want to.” He stopped, taking his arm off his shoulders and pulled him to him, so he could look him straight in the eye. “We don't need the approval of pedophile priests and a God who does not want us,” he said, looking into his blue eyes as people walked around them, trying to avoid them. “Every man around here is my witness, every star in the sky, every grain of sand in the desert, that as long as you want me by your side, I'll be there.” he promised.

“Brian…” Justin frowned, embarrassed by the sudden declaration of affection. He looked at Brian trying to figure out where he wanted to go, but when Brian took the two rings he had brought with him from his pocket, Justin’s eyes widened, gasping at the recognition of their wedding rings, those that had lain for years in the drawer of Brian's bedside table, buried by condoms.

“We're already married, Justin,” he told him. “I'm your husband because that's what I choose to be every day, and I don't give a shit that there is not a marriage certificate to say it, because it's just a piece of paper to say what we are, what we feel for one another…” he took a deep breath and smiled, trying to mask the emotion, “So, if it is alright with you, they have waited too long. They're the symbol of my commitment to you,” he told him as he handed the ring to him. “I promise you that you will always have the truth from me and that I will always come back to you, regardless of how many lovers we will have and how many times we will separate.”

The people who kept passing did not pay attention to them, but even if someone did, neither Brian nor Justin would have noticed. Justin's gaze seemed unable to break away from the wedding ring, he slowly raised his hand and allowed Brian to put it on his finger. He watched his hand for a time that seemed infinite to Brian, but then he looked up at him. He took the other ring from Brian’s hand and opened his mouth to speak, but could not. He had to take a deep breath before a nervous laugh freed his throat. “I love you, Brian,” he managed to say before putting the wedding ring on his left ring finger. Brian tightened his hand, considering the weight of that gold circle, but did not have time to think about it too much because Justin stood on tiptoes and kissed him.

  


*

  


Stella was beautiful in his mother's pink dress. Debbie had altered it because fits her like a glove, and Lindsay had helped her make up, but her eyes were not serene. In the last week she had been unfriendly and had tried to persuade him to look for another lady. Even his mother and grandmother Debbie had intervened to convince her that she could not refuse.

Lindsay had confronted her mother to get the dress she'd attended to her prom, proudly telling her that her son was dating a transsexual girl. Gus had suspected she'd done it to cause a stroke in Grandma Peterson; if she died, their family would not need to look for another house. In any case, the dress seemed made for Stella.

The two women had waited in the living room with him and Carl for the girl to come down; Carl took a picture and the flash made her eyes close for a moment.

“Stella…” whispering her name, Gus held out his hand to help her down the last steps. “You're beautiful!” he said, unable to look away from her. Stella did not answer, just smiling an uncertain smile and Gus laid a light kiss on her lips, while Carl took another picture and Debbie burst out laughing. “Don't ruin her make-up before the dance, bad boy!” the woman scolded him, and Gus spontaneously smiled.

“I won’t,” he promised. “Shall we go?” he asked her, and she nodded a little too rigidly, but Gus did not notice or perhaps blamed the emotion.

“Have fun, kids, and be careful,” Lindsay said. “Melanie will have a heart attack when she sees the pictures!”

Gus laughed. “Dad will too.” He winked at his mother and greeted Carl and Debbie, leading Stella out, holding her hand. There was Justin's car parked in front of the driveway of the Horvath-Novotny house and he was not sure his father knew it, but somehow his mother had convinced Justin to lend it to him that evening. He opened the door to accommodate Stella and walked around the car to get into the driver's seat.

They had just left when Stella decided to talk. “Gus,” she purred in a thin voice, as if she had cried all day, so he turned to look at her worriedly. “Stop the car, please. I don't want to go.”

“Stella…”

“Please, Gus,” she begged him, and Gus stopped. He lit the position arrows and sighed, turning to her.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?” he asked her in annoyance.

Stella tortured her fingers, and he forcefully took her hand, squeezing it between his own. “Why don't you want to come to the prom anymore? It seemed to me that you were enthusiastic when I asked you.”

The cockpit of the car was little light, but Gus saw Stella turn away. “If someone notices that I'm not a girl…”

“You are a girl!” Gus contradicted her, “And how would they find out?”

“If I had to go to the bathroom…”

“I doubt there are urinals in the girls' bathrooms!” Gus snapped, “And even if there were, you would not use them!” Perhaps he had used a tone that was too harsh; he felt Stella's hand stiffen and the profile of her face fell sadly.

“I don't want to…” Stella's voice was reduced to a whisper, “not…” She took a handful of pink cloth in her free hand and tugged it, then letting it go. “I feel like a clown dressed like this.”

“But you liked this dress!” Gus took a deep breath again and closed his eyes. In the last days Stella had been intractable and, even though he knew it was the fault of the hormones, his patience had reached the limit. He just wanted to spend a nice evening with her, after all.

“The dress is beautiful, but it's not for me,” she tried to explain.

“Look,” he said impatiently, “we don't have to spend the night there. Come on, let's dance one or two songs, drink something, and go home!”

Stella took her hand from his and held it to her chest, again closed in on herself.

“What's wrong?” he asked, trying not to get angry. “Why don't you talk to me anymore?”

Stella didn’t answer, and for a moment Gus thought he would really take her back home, he would take off that dandy dress and go to bed slamming the door, but when he started the car, he got an idea. “We'll not go to the school ball,” he said with a sly smile, reversing the direction of travel to head to Liberty Avenue.

The loft was not far; in about ten minutes they turned onto Fuller and parked in front of Molly's apartment.

“Where are we?” Stella asked, getting out of the car.

“In our private ballroom,” Gus answered, showing her the keys to the apartment.

The freight elevator clattered to the top floor and Gus lifted the protective grille. “Now close your eyes,” he said, taking her by the hand and guiding her in front of the door. He opened and turned on the light in the large studio.

“What do you think?” he asked, closing the door behind them.

Stella looked around; it was a remarkable environment, modern and refined furniture and a barrier of plants aligned in front of the windows, high ceiling and polished floor. On the walls there were dozens of photographs taken by Molly during her travels. “It's…” Stella began, but could not find the words to complete the sentence. “But can we stay here?” she asked, looking at him incredulously.

The boy shrugged. “Justin gave me the keys to water the plants,” he reminded her, reaching the stereo. He reviewed Molly's discs until he found something he liked. “He didn't say I couldn’t bring anyone here,” he said as the first notes began to fill the air. He pushed the sofa aside and rolled the carpet at his feet and discovered the light parquet. “Would you care to dance with me, Miss Poirier?” he asked her with an exaggerated bow, holding out his hand and, for the first time that evening, he saw her smile.

Stella put her hand in his and followed him in a circle that did not seem a dance, but that made them both laugh. “I love you,” Gus told her, and Stella came closer to him, lifting her chin in an invitation Gus picked up. He wanted to kiss her and hold her, and when Stella withdrew, smiling and her face flushed, he chased her lips again. They were soft and tasted like strawberries, and Gus stopped dancing while his hands became shameless.

When another song started he gripped her tighter. “Make love to me,” he asked her in the hope that she would not refuse again; that she would not reject him again; but Stella withdrew, trying to escape his arms. “Don't run away, Stella, please.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” she asked, upset and looking at him indignantly.

“No,” Gus told her, stroking her face. “But… I wish you could trust me. I don't care what you look like…” He fell silent when he saw Stella's eyes moisten again. He did not know what he said wrong this time. “Stella?”

Stella did not allow the tears to come down. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to smile at him. “I trust you, Gus,” she said, swallowing. The shadow of the Adam's apple appeared on her contracted throat. “I don't trust…,” she paused, looking away for a moment and bit her pink lip. “I don't trust what I feel for you,” she told him in one breath. “I don't believe I still love you,” she said slipping out of his embrace.

Gus looked at her petrified, he felt like the floor of the loft had begun to collapse under his feet, his landmarks were confusing, as if he was drunk. “What…?” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Gus… I want to go home,” she said, her eyes watery and her chest swelling rapidly. She turned her back and ran to the door, pushing it with all the weight of her body to move swiftly. She locked herself in the elevator and, only when he heard the noise of the grille, did Gus shake himself.

“Stella! Wait!” he called her, but she had already pressed the down button.

“Don't follow me,” she sobbed, a moment before the elevator left the top floor.

Gus could not believe that Stella felt that way, that she had told him… _that she didn't believe she still loved him…_ but she had kissed him… If it was a bad dream, he wanted to wake up and if it was not… he wanted an explanation, but she had told him not to follow her, and suddenly Gus didn’t know what to do. He returned to the apartment and sat down on the sofa, his head in his hands, and cried.

He recalled Stella's behavior in recent weeks, her nervousness and her attempts to decline the invitation. He wondered if she was seeing anyone else at school or at the diner, or if it was his fault.

He wanted someone to hug him and tell him what to do. He wished his heart didn’t feel so tight that it hurt him. “Stella…” he sobbed, and a smile flashed for a moment in his mind, sending a shiver down his spine. A hand that touched him, but it was not Stella's. Gus felt his throat tighten and furiously loosened his bow tie. He needed to rinse his face and get out of there or he would go crazy. He did not know how long he sat there crying, but he looked at himself in the mirror and made a decision. He ruffled his hair, took off his elegant suit jacket and shirt, pulling his shirt out of his pants and went down to the street, walking briskly in the darkness interrupted by the street lamps.

He knew where to go, even if he had not had the courage to formulate the thought. Babylon, with its colorful neon, attracted him with the uncertain and ambiguous promise of transgression and lightheartedness. At least he would not have to think about it, he would not have to feel the pain that tore at his chest; the deafening music would silence his heart.

Inside Babylon it was hot, and Gus stopped at the entrance, looking for someone who probably was not even there. The lights were reflected on the golden confetti stuck to the sweaty skin of the boys, tiny fake stars destined to end up trampled on the ground or in the drains of the showers. Gus did not see him coming, but when Dylan was in front of him, he felt his excitement go up.

“I came,” he said, trying to make himself heard over the noise of the music and his heart.

“Not yet,” the boy replied, with a sure smile that silenced his grief, “but I'll make sure I get you to come before sending you home.”

Gus smiled sideways and went with him to the dance floor.

  


END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end.  
> Thank you so much for reading this story by an unknown and foreign author.  
> Thank you for commenting on it.  
> Thanks, once again, to Lorie for correcting my disastrous translation.  
> I hope you enjoyed it and that you that you found the characters we love in my words.  
> I know this is not the ending you expected, not for all the characters, but do you remember the tragic finale of the first season?  
> I conceived "Seventeen" as my own sixth season, a sort of revival to be followed by the seventh season and, in fact, this story has a following.  
> Its title is "Seventeen2 – The thumpa thumpa continues", but I have not translated it.  
> It is 15 chapters long, but I don't consider it as good as "Seveteen" and before any translation I will take my time to fix it.  
> Before saying goodbye, I leave you the link to the printable pdf of "Seventeen". The cover is by the talented Kisachaya. You can find it here: https://www.dropbox.com/s/en2zh6e6ufu1vhk/Seventeen%20%E2%80%93%20English.pdf?dl=0


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